


Mischief Managed

by fringeperson



Series: Mischief [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Gen, Harry takes holidays in places where the Avenger are - prior to their becoming Avengers, Independent Harry Potter, Mentor/Protégé, Professor Loki (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:47:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 33,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27602987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fringeperson/pseuds/fringeperson
Summary: A man with black hair, green eyes and pale skin watched over a child with black hair, green eyes, pale skin, and a variant of the Elder Futhark rune Sowilo etched upon his brow.~Originally posted in '14
Relationships: Loki (Marvel) & Harry Potter
Series: Mischief [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2018021
Comments: 18
Kudos: 408
Collections: A Labyrinth of Fics, Avidreaders Avengers completed faves, Avidreaders HP completed faves





	1. Chapter 1

“Hello Hagrid,” a very refined looking man greeted as the large man was just about at the steps of the bank. “On an errand for the Headmaster?”

“Professor Loki!” Hagrid greeted with a smile. “Yes, I'm showin' young Harry here around and helpin' him buy his school things.”

“Ah,” the man, Professor Loki, said. “Hagrid, forgive me, but isn't that sort of duty usually given to one of the _professors_?”

Hagrid shifted uncomfortably. “Normally,” he agreed. “But Dumbledore had another errand he wanted me to run that was in Diagon Alley as well, so...”

Professor Loki gave a tight little smile. “Well, why don't you do that, and I'll make sure that Mr Potter gets  _everything_ that he'll need,” he suggested. “My lesson plans for the year are ready after all, and I can conduct my own bit of shopping at the same time with no extra fuss.”

Hagrid visibly thought about it for a moment before he nodded. “It will mean I don't have to be in them carts the goblins use f'r so long,” he allowed, and started searching his pockets until he found what he was looking for. “There's Harry's vault key,” he said, and handed it over to Professor Loki before he turned to Harry. “I'll see you at Hogwarts then, alright Harry?”

Harry nodded. “Thank you Hagrid,” he agreed and took a step so that he was closer to Professor Loki than to Hagrid.

“He's a good sort,” Professor Loki informed Harry as they waited a moment to let Hagrid enter the bank before them. “A bit _dim_ though,” he added delicately, “and would have _doubtless_ forgotten to tell you a _great_ deal that you _should_ know.”

“Oh,” Harry said softly. “Like what?”

Professor Loki smiled down at him. “You were raised in the non-magical world, were you not, Mr Potter?” he asked.

“By my aunt and uncle,” Harry agreed with a nod. “I didn't even know magic was _real_ until I got my letter.”

Professor Loki nodded. “And as such, you have likely no idea how to write with a quill, nor do you have knowledge of the stories that are part of the culture of magical humans in the same way that the stories of the Brothers Grimm, or certain nursery rhymes are part of  _non_ -magical culture,” he suggested. “Just as an example.”

Harry's eyes went wide. “No Sir,” he agreed. “I...”

Loki patted Harry comfortingly on the shoulder. “That's alright young man,” he said. “For now, as we are stood before the bank, and as  _I_ have your key rather than  _you_ , and clearly you have  _not_ had it for the past so many  _years_ , I think it would behove us to start you with learning about your accounts,” he suggested.

“I've never had money before,” Harry admitted softly.

Loki snorted. “You have,” he countered. “It is just that you are only  _now_ learning of the matter, something we shall rectify  _today_ ,” he declared decisively, and urged Harry up the steps and into the building without any further ado.

~oOo~  
  


They spent an _hour_ in the bank, and Harry spent at least half of that time wide-eyed with _shock_ at what was apparently _his_ – which was a great deal _more_ than was held by just that one tiny key that Hagrid had handed over. Other keys had been recalled (magically, from Dumbledore), and put on a ring (enchanted against theft) before they were handed over to Harry at last.

Then it was a ride in a cart down to Harry's personal vault to collect some coinage.

“Professor Loki,” Harry asked as they whizzed down the tracks. “What's the difference between a stalagmite and a stalactite?”

“Stalagmites come up from the ground, stalactites come down from the top of the cave,” Loki answered. “Remember that, 'g' in the stal _ag_ mite for 'ground', and 't' in the stalac _tite_ for 'top'.”

Harry beamed up at the professor. “Thank you Sir!”

Loki smiled back. “You're welcome,” he answered. “I take it you're _enjoying_ the ride then?”

Harry nodded rapidly.

He enjoyed the ride back up to the surface as well, where they exchanged some of the gold for British Pounds. Loki insisted on it. After all, Harry had no reason to wear ratty hand-me-downs any more, and in fact had a very _good_ reason to _not_. He was the last of an Ancient and Noble house, after all, and potential heir to another.

Before that though, Loki directed Harry to a luggage shop so that he would have somewhere to _put_ his purchases.

“Standard Hogwarts trunk?” the man running the store suggested the moment they had stepped through his door.

“Absolutely not,” Loki answered easily, a smile on his face as though the suggestion amused him, rather than offended him as his words could have implied. “The standard trunks would not be _nearly_ secure enough. No.”

And then Harry watched as the professor began to list every feature he wanted on _Harry's_ trunk, up to and including _living quarters_ – a feature which surprised Harry rather visibly.

Loki smiled sadly down at him, and then crouched to be on eye-level with the boy. “Mr Potter,” he said softly, careful not to draw the attention of the man who was putting together Harry's trunk. The poor lad was _annoyingly_ famous, after all. “From your physical state I can see that your guardians do _not_ take proper care of you, and what little I know of neglected children is that they mature faster than other children by sheer necessity. If you have your _own_ living quarters in your trunk, then you will have the opportunity to take care of _yourself_.”

Harry eyes grew wide at the suggestion, and then slowly he smiled then at the idea. Yes. He knew how to cook and clean, and he had money. He _could_ take care of himself, and he _would_!

The incredible trunk was purchased, and Harry was shown how to shrink it so that it would fit into his pocket (a process that involved the keys for the trunk, rather than a wand) as well as how to make it bigger again, and then the pair of them left Diagon Alley for non-magical London.

Specifically, Loki took Harry to Portobello Road. One moment they were in Diagon Alley, then Loki told Harry to close his eyes, hold his breath, and count to ten before opening them – and then they were at the Portobello Road Market.

“Wow,” Harry breathed as he looked around. “But, Sir, why not just to a BHS?”

Loki chuckled. “We'll stop by one on the way back to Diagon if you don't find everything you'll want here,” he promised. “But you will find things here that the BHS _doesn't_ have, and Portobello Road has quite the atmosphere, doesn't it?”

Harry looked around, found that he couldn't help but smile, and nodded in agreement.

And indeed they _did_ find most everything Harry could want. There was a man selling hand-crafted fountain pens (“More sensible than a quill,” Loki said plainly as he urged Harry to pick one he liked the look of), there was any amount of clothes and books for sale – old and new – and there was a newsagent that sold lined exercise books (“More practical than piles of loose parchment,” Loki insisted as he _personally_ collected ten such books for Harry's use, as well as a a ruler and a geometry kit for the boy. He collected up five large ring-binders for himself.) Harry also bought cookware for his new, _personal_ kitchen in his trunk, as well as some comfortable furniture, bedsheets, towels, and any book that caught his fancy – when it finally sank in that _he was allowed to read now_. As much as he wanted.

And then they stopped for lunch.

“So,” Loki said as he relaxed on the wrought-iron chair outside one of the cafe's as they waited for the lunches they'd ordered to be brought out. “Do you think you will need to go to a BHS?”

Harry smiled and shook his head. “No Sir,” he answered. “Thank you for bringing me here today Sir.”

Loki smiled back at the child.

After lunch, the pair returned to Diagon Alley. Harry was now dressed in some of the new clothes he'd bought that morning. Clothes that actually _fit_ him and that weren't falling apart. He looked a great deal less like a ragamuffin and more like a young gentlemen as they purchased robes from one shop, continued on to another for the other essential paraphernalia on the list Harry had been sent, and took their time in the apothecary so that Loki could instruct Harry on potions ingredients as they were collected from the shelves.

“Do you teach Potions, Sir?” Harry asked when they finally reached the counter.

Loki chuckled. “No,” he answered. “No, not at all. I teach a class called Ancient Runes, which is an elective that you may take from your third year. Potions, however, is a branch of magic that you may practice during the holidays, as wand-work is illegal for a minor to perform without adult supervision capable of _reversing_ any accidents.”

“Oh,” Harry said softly.

“Though _potion_ accidents can be even _more_ disastrous,” pointed out the woman behind the counter as she carefully stowed the selections they'd made into a very clever box that was simply called a 'kit' – Loki had also picked _that_ out for Harry. “Explosions, melted cauldrons, and then whatever _mess_ happens when a potion-gone-wrong makes _contact_ with anything. Particularly skin.”

“And yet the Ministry, in all their, ahem, _wisdom_ do not concern themselves with the matter,” Loki pointed out to the woman with a commiserating smile and a hint of disdain for the _illustrious_ Ministry.

She huffed. “Probably because Professor Snape has turned so many youngsters off the subject that they wouldn't _want_ to go near it during the holidays,” she complained. “Unless they've got themselves a tutor.”

“Professor Snape?” Harry asked, curious.

“Oh don't you mind me, young man,” the woman said with a sigh. “Professor Snape is a Potions _Master_ , one of the best, but... well, he's passionate about his subject, and teaching the basics to beginners isn't _really_ the place for a passionate Master, especially one who doesn't like children to begin with.”

“Oh,” Harry said softly, and raised a hand to his chin in thought. “Ma'am, is there a book you would recommend that I read in preparation for Professor Snape's class? Perhaps if I know something going in, it would help.”

“It might that,” she agreed, and tapped her cheekbone with one long finger and hummed to herself as she turned to consider the small bookshelf behind the counter as she thought about the answer. A few moments later, she pulled down two _very_ thick books. “They're not _easy_ reads,” she said with a smile when she noticed how wide Harry's eyes went behind his glasses as he stared at them. “But they're comprehensive, and will be helpful.”

“Thank you Ma'am,” Harry said softly.

And then everything was paid for and it was “Where to next?”

“I noticed you _squinting_ a great deal in that shop, Mr Potter,” Loki answered, “so we're going to the optometrist.”

Harry brightened. “Really Sir?” he asked hopefully. “Do you think I could get contact lenses instead of glasses?”

“As well as, Mr Potter,” Loki countered. “You won't want your contact lenses in _all_ the time, and spectacles can be enchanted to give extra features, and as such can be very useful.”

Harry nodded in acceptance and just about _bounced_ with excitement as Loki guided them to a building that had _Third Eye Wear_ written over the door.

“Ah, Mr Loki!” greeted the man behind the counter. “What timing! I've just finished enchanting those frames you requested last week.”

“Do glasses _normally_ take a lot of time to enchant?” Harry asked curiously.

The man chuckled. “Not at all young Sir,” he answered. “But Mr Loki asked for something I've never done before, so figuring out _how_ took some time,” he told Harry before he turned back to Loki. “I assume the lad wants new frames?” he asked.

“Contact lenses as well,” Loki answered with a nod. “And perhaps a small collection of frames for different purposes?” he suggested.

“Collection?” Harry asked.

Loki and the shopkeeper smiled indulgently at the boy.

“A set of frames is only big enough to hold _one_ enchantment youngster,” the shopkeeper explained with a chuckle. “Unless you want them to take over your whole head, that is, or have the enchantment scribbled all over the glass. Size of the object is proportional to the number of enchantments it can hold.”

“Enchantments are spells that are inscribed upon objects with runes, so that they stay and don't have to be cast over and over again. Your glasses would be the equivalent of... shall we say one sticky-note. Not much information can fit on them, so only one enchantment can fit on your glasses. Your trunk, on the other hand, is more like the size of those very big potion books you got from the apothecary. So your trunk, because it is a large object, can easily hold _several_ enchantments,” Loki explained. “Do you understand?” he checked.

Harry thought about it a moment before nodding. Yes, he understood. He understood that writing tiny enough to fit on a sticky-note was sometimes _hard_ as well, so he didn't ask about writing smaller on his glasses to fit more enchantments. Especially since glasses could have very _thin_ wire frames, which meant even _less_ space to write enchantments on, and needing to write even _smaller_.

“We do have _one_ way of cheating that though,” the shopkeeper said, and brought out a very strange pair of glasses.

There were extra lenses hanging off the sides, with coloured glass in them and tiny etchings around the very edges near the silver frames, and the man demonstrated how each of the extra lenses could be individually flicked over the main eye pieces and looked through.

“These are what we sell to curse-breakers,” the man explained. “And _only_ to curse-breakers,” he added firmly when he saw the way Harry was looking at them in awe. “Since they really can't be carrying around lots of pairs of glasses, and sometimes don't have the time to find _just_ the right pair for whatever they need to be looking at.”

The man put the fancy glasses back and then came out from behind his counter. “So then, what sort of things did you have in mind for the youngster, Mr Loki?” he asked.

“A pair of glasses to spot tracking charms, for one thing,” Loki answered at once.

“Tracking charms?” Harry asked.

“Mr Potter,” the shopkeeper said as he got down on one knee to look the boy in the eye. “You are _famous_ for something _you_ had no control over. There will be people who want to know your every move as a result. Some of them because they want to control you, some because they want to kill you, and possibly even a few because they are genuinely concerned for you. If you can spot a tracking charm, and learn how to _remove_ that charm, then you don't have to worry about that sort of thing so much.”

“Why tell me things like that?” Harry asked, confused. “I mean, I'm _grateful_ Sir, but I don't...”

“Because I'm someone who's _grateful_ for what you did lad, I lost a lot of friends to the evil pillock, but I'm also _not_ one of the idiots who thinks I've got a right to your life because of it,” the man explained, and pushed himself up off the floor. “Contact lenses to prescription, glasses to same, and a pair of specks to spot trackers,” he said, back to business. “Anything else?”

“Perhaps a pair to see through invisibility spells?” Loki suggested. “So that he can spot people trying to spy on him. And a pair that can see if an item has been spelled, so he knows if a letter sent to him has been jinxed before he opens it. That _should_ do for now. If Mr Potter has any other ideas, he can come back another time.”

Harry nodded in agreement. “Oh!” he said, and idea clearly coming to him. “What about glasses that will let me see like it's daytime even in the dark? So I can keep reading later without having to make a light?”

Loki and the shopkeeper both chuckled.

“Well thought of,” the shopkeeper congratulated. “I'll certainly be able to do that as well. For now though, if you will please sit up here,” he said with a wave to a stool by the counter. “I'll see what prescription you need, and you can browse the frames I've got while I fetch out the lenses you'll need.”

Harry eventually picked a pair of square gold frames, well, square-ish, with softer, different-coloured bits to go over his ears. They weren't really _big_ frames, or really _thick_ , but he thought they looked good on his face, and Professor Loki and the shopkeeper both confirmed that there was enough there to work with for the enchantments. The new glasses also looked much better than his old black-wire round glasses that were taped together over the bridge of his nose.

Better than the new glasses though, was the new _contacts_. They came with a little case to carry them in, a solution to wash them with, and drops for his eyes for when he was putting them in or taking them out – which he practised while the shopkeeper was enchanting a few pairs of the frames he'd chosen for the effects he wanted.

The glasses each had a soft case of their own, and the coloured parts that went over his ears were different for each set. Black for the normal, not-enchanted-at-all pair, green for the pair that would spot tracking spells, blue for the pair that would see through invisibility spells, red for the pair that would spot jinxes on items, and orange for the pair that would let Harry see in the dark like it was daylight.

“Thank you Sir,” Harry said with a smile as he paid for all his new glasses. With the many sets stashed away and his contacts in – and when Loki paid for _his_ special order as well – and they left for the bookshop.


	2. Chapter 2

“Professor Loki, what a surprise to see you here,” a feminine voice greeted as they entered Flourish and Blott's Bookshop.

“Professor McGonagall,” Loki answered with a smile as he stepped up to an elderly woman, took her hand, and bent over it gallantly. “A pleasure. You are escorting a student today?” he enquired when he spotted the couple in jeans and collared shirts behind her, a little girl similarly dressed between them (though she wore a pale pink t-shirt instead of a collared shirt).

“Indeed,” she agreed. “These are the Grangers. Their daughter will be attending Hogwarts this year. May I ask what brings you to the Alley?”

“Well, I had a very little bit of shopping to do this morning, last things to get before the school year, when I saw Hagrid escorting young Mr Potter here to the bank, and offered to give the young man a... more _comprehensive_ introduction to magical society than Hagrid would have thought to.”

Professor McGonagall nodded approvingly. “Really, what Albus was _thinking_ , sending Hagrid to fetch Mr Potter,” she grumbled softly.

Loki just smiled and gave no answer. After all, how could he understand what was going on in the mind of his employer? He had only just been hired that summer, after all.

“Hello,” the little girl greeted Harry.

“Hello,” he answered. “I'm Harry.”

“I'm Hermione,” she answered with a tentative smile. “What shops have you been to so far?”

“Well, after the bank, Professor Loki took me to the luggage shop to buy a trunk first, so that I'd have somewhere to put all the things I'd have to buy today,” Harry started, counting off on his fingers. “Then we went to the Portobello Road Market for a while, to buy things that I needed because my relatives wouldn't buy them for me, like new clothes, and after lunch we came back to Diagon Alley and I got school and casual robes from Madam Malkin's, as well as formal robes from a tailor, and then there was Hyde's Hides where I got a lot of dragon leather things like gloves and boots, and after that was Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment for the telescope, scales, and a set of vials, then we went to the apothecary, then the optometrist where I got contact lenses to replace my old glasses, and now we're here,” Harry finished.

“Wow,” Hermione breathed. “We came straight here after going to the bank and exchanging pounds for galleons.” Then she frowned – and Hermione frowned with her whole face, not just her mouth. “Wait, if you went to a luggage shop and got a trunk, where is it?” she asked.

Harry grinned. “It's in my pocket,” he answered. “It _shrinks_.”

“ _Wow_ ,” Hermione breathed again, eyes even wider than before.

“Perhaps, if there is luggage that will do that, we should have gone _there_ first,” commented Mr Granger.

“If you like, Mr Granger, Mrs Granger, I could escort one or both of you to the luggage store, while Professor Loki supervises the children here?” Professor McGonagall offered.

“You go David,” Mrs Granger urged. “I'll keep Hermione's bibliophilia in check.”

He kissed her cheek and bid Professor McGonagall lead the way.

“A bibliophile?” Loki asked the girl with a smile.

Hermione blushed.

“What's that?” Harry asked.  
“Someone who loves books,” Loki answered the boy. “Arguably, a little _too_ much,” he added, and his smile twisted slightly into an amused smirk.

For some reason, Hermione blushed more deeply and frowned – again with her whole face – and dragged her mother off into the shelves in a hurry.

“Better than thinking reading will make you go blind,” Harry muttered, thinking of his cousin and uncle with distaste.

“Indeed,” Loki agreed with a sigh, then gently urged Harry along towards a different stack of shelves. “Come along,” he instructed. “There are shelves to search and books to find. The first-year standard texts are in nice neat bundles by the counter, as are full sets of the _The Standard Book of Spells_ series, so I suggest you look around to find something interesting for alternative reading.”

“You mean _apart_ from those two _tomes_ the apothecary lady sold me?” Harry joked with a smile.

Loki smiled back at the boy. “Indeed,” he agreed.

~oOo~

“You don't have _any_ history books,” Hermione noted when they all (McGonagall and her father having returned by this time) met up again. She had at _least_ three such texts in her arms.

Harry raised an eyebrow at that. “Professor Loki said that if I wanted to learn about history, I was better ordering books from Italy and learning either Italian or the translation charm, if not both,” he answered. “Apparently there isn't a lot of journalistic integrity in the British historical records, but the Italians are nuts for it and keep records of what's happened all over the world,” he explained.

“Oh,” Hermione said softly, then frowned again. “You mean... these books could be _wrong_?” she asked.

“Almost certainly,” Loki interjected. “They might have _some_ birth-dates right, but I wouldn't trust them beyond that. Your assigned history text is passable, as far as it goes, but if it isn't Italian or more than a two-hundred years old, I simply don't trust it for historical facts.”

Hermione sighed sadly, and removed the historical texts from her pile of books. She didn't want to read books that were trying to pass off _lies_ as _facts_ after all.

The relief on the adult Granger's faces was clear to McGonagall and Loki both, but Hermione missed it as she was _already_ looking for other books to replace the ones she'd removed from her pile, and Harry himself was too busy setting his collection of books on the counter, and picking up a set of first year texts as well as the full _The Standard Book of Spells_ collection.

“So, Mr Potter, to the wand maker or the pet shop next?” Loki asked the young man as he stored his purchases in the compartment of his trunk that he was keeping his books in.

“Pet shop, please Professor Loki,” Harry answered.

Loki smiled and peered into the compartment. “And, Mr Potter, do I suppose that you would like some sort of _bird_?” he suggested as he pulled out a book Harry had bought while they were in the Portobello Road Market. A book on falconry.

Harry ducked his head briefly, a slightly sheepish smile on his lips. “I know the letter said that students could have an owl or a cat or a toad, but I thought... well, falcons are just... so much _cooler_ , and I could have them hunt rabbits that I could cook when I'm _not_ in Hogwarts,” he explained softly.

Loki smiled and patted the boy on the head before replacing the book.

“Professor McGonagall?” he called to the grey-haired woman. “Mr Potter would like a slightly different bird than an owl, but I'm unfamiliar with the strictures of the matter.”

“Oh, it's no great stricture,” McGonagall answered. “Students really are allowed _any_ pet, but owls, cats and toads have always been the most common. The letter simply emphasises that they may only have _one_ pet with them at Hogwarts,” she explained.

“Thank you, Professor McGonagall,” Loki said, and bowed his head in gratitude. “Well then Mr Potter, let us see to finding you a bird.”

Harry smiled as he finished stowing his books and closed the lid of his trunk. He was just shrinking it when Hermione returned with her _new_ pile of books.

“I'll see you later Hermione,” Harry bid as he put the trunk back into his pocket.

“Can I look for you on the train?” Hermione asked quickly.

“Train?” Harry asked, turning questioning green eyes up to Professor Loki.

“The Hogwarts Express, a train that will take students from Kings Cross Station to the Hogsmede Station, from which first years are carried over the lake to Hogwarts castle, while returning students are taken in carriages,” Loki answered.

Harry smiled and turned back to Hermione. “Sure,” he agreed. “I'll get there early and find a compartment for us to share!” he promised, and with a last wave, he left the shop with Professor Loki.

“Now, Mr Potter, there _are_ people who would claim that where I am going to take you, _no_ child should _ever_ go. They would spread fallacies that it is a haunt of exclusively wicked witches and cruel wizards, and that the whole place should be set ablaze,” Loki said as he guided Harry through the crowds towards another alley branching off Diagon. “These people, Mr Potter, _are wrong_. It is a place where the ugly, the unwanted, and the uncommon are found, and some, I grant, are unpleasant, but the people here are still _people_ , and the businesses here are still just that, and want repeat custom as much as any other. Do you understand what I am telling you?” Loki asked the boy.

“Yes Sir,” Harry answered. “It's like my aunt and uncle telling all the neighbours that I'm a criminal and a delinquent. I'm not, but I look – I _looked_ like one. People are stupid.”

Loki smiled sadly at the boy. No child should have been treated the way it seemed young Harry had been. “Indeed,” he agreed. “It is the responsibility of every person to use their minds to their fullest capacity. Sadly, most people do _not_. I am glad to see you know enough to not be so easily blinded by public opinion.”

Harry smiled back, pleased to have pleased this man. This man who had actually looked out for and helped him – _him_! – _all day_.

Loki led Harry down Knockturn Alley to a place called St Alban's Mews. The counter had a break in it that would allow customers to follow the shopkeeper through another door to the back, as opening a door to a room full of birds really was, potentially, just _asking_ for trouble. As for the man _at_ the counter, well, he was a little bit scarred, but otherwise seemed none the worse for his chosen profession.

“Gentleman,” he greeted with a smile. “If you will permit me to turn the sign on the door and lock it, I will escort you out the back where the birds are.”

Harry blinked in surprise. But, he supposed, if anybody were coming _into_ this shop, then they _would_ be coming for a bird. The shop _next door_ , which looked joined but which had written above the door Dame Juliana's Provisions for Hawking, Hunting and Heraldry probably covered everything _else_ needed for tending to the birds that would be bought here.

“Did you have in mind the sort of bird you were looking for?” the man asked once he'd dealt with the door and the sign and was moving past them to the counter once more.

“A goshawk,” Harry answered.

The man chuckled. “I _should_ have you to be more specific than that lad,” he said easily. “There's near thirty different varieties of goshawk, and that's not including cross-breeds. But I only have the local breeds of birds and the birds that migrate here naturally, meaning for goshawks I've only got the goshawk breed that was originally _the_ goshawk, that's the northern goshawk lad, just so you know.”

Harry nodded in understanding.

“Now you go on in there lad,” the man encouraged as he gently nudged Harry towards a door off his hall of doors – a door that _said_ 'goshawks'. “And you come out again when you find one you can get along with. And lad? The _bigger_ ones is the females. Don't get 'em mixed up or they'll get scratchy with you.”

Harry nodded quickly that he understood, accepted the thick glove the man handed him, and entered. After ten minutes of looking at (and admiring) every bird there, Harry emerged with one that the shopkeeper clearly recognised.

“Lad, how is it that a tiny thing like you gets the _largest_ and most _bloodthirsty_ of the females to be preening your hair like you're her own chick?” he asked, his voice pitched a little higher. It could have been incredulity, or fear for the boy, or even both that had caused the man to squeak at the end of his question.

Harry blinked in surprise and could only shrug.

“Do you have a name for this bird?” Loki asked the man, “or will it be up to the young man to choose?”

“I been callin' this one here Her Majesty,” the man answered, his voice calming, though there was still a hint of a quaver in it as he eyed the bird distrustfully.

Loki tentatively reached out to the goshawk and, while he was not snapped at or scratched, the bird _did_ watch him very closely and flex her claws threateningly when his fingers were close enough to lightly brush her feathers.

“She reminds me of Sif,” he declared softly as he withdrew his hand.

The shopkeeper frowned. “Ain't she the Norse goddess of, er, _marriage_ or some such?” he asked.

Loki chuckled. “The Sif _I_ knew, sir, would sooner disembowel you than be held up as a pillar to matrimony,” he explained, a smile on his face. Oh yes, definitely a _different_ woman to how she had been when Thor was telling drunken tales of godhood to the Vikings.

Harry, for his part, smiled as he gently stroked the birds breast feathers. “Sif,” he said softly. “I like it. What about you, beautiful? Do you like that name?” he asked the bird.

The bird's head bobbed up and down in a parody of a nod, and that was that.

“Sif it is then,” Harry decided with a smile.

“I've got a door that lets you into the shop next door for supplies, so ya don't have to worry about takin' her outside,” the shopkeeper offered. “But she'll be seven galleons and five sickles before I let ya through.”

Harry nodded in agreement and reached into the pocket that held his money with his free hand, and pulled out the coins requested.

In the next shop over, a hood was bought for Sif with the Potter crest quickly (and magically) embossed onto the back, as well as a gauntlet of Harry's own so that he could return the glove borrowed from the man they'd bought Sif from, and a great many other bits and bobs that were needed for training the bird not just to accept Harry as her master, but to hunt for him as well, not to mention the things needed for her general upkeep like a perch and water dish.

Then, with Sif hooded and on his shoulder, Harry followed Professor Loki back down the street.

“Just the wand left, I believe?” Loki questioned.

“Yes Sir,” Harry answered.

“Well, we have two options, and I would recommend taking both,” Loki said firmly. “First, we shall return to Diagon Alley and purchase a wand from Mr Ollivander. This will be the standard wand that you will use in whatever classes require you to use one. Then, we will return to Knockturn Alley and see a crafter I know about having a focus made specifically for you.”

“Sir?” Harry asked curiously.

“You'll see what I mean, Mr Potter,” Loki answered with a slight sigh. “Come along.”

“Yes Sir.”

~oOo~

Loki took Sif – and she dug her claws in sharply when he did, though she made no other protest against being passed off – and sat to one side behind Harry as Ollivander offered the boy wand after wand to try, to give a wave, until half an hour later and they'd finally happened upon a winner. Holly, and a tail feather from a phoenix who was particularly miserly and only gave two – the other of which had been purchased by the man who had killed Harry's parents, among a great many other people.

“Sir,” Harry said politely. “What was his name? I've only heard people refer to him as 'he who must not be named', and 'you know who'.”

“I'd have told the young man myself, but I only entered the country this year. I don't know it either,” Loki admitted when Ollivander sent him a questioning look.

Ollivander hummed. “Well, he put a taboo on his assumed name during the war,” he said. “But his _real_ name, Mr Potter, was Tom Riddle. Tom Marvolo Riddle. It might be best if you keep that to yourself though lad,” he advised.

Harry nodded in acceptance, if not understanding, and paid for his wand.

Loki handed Sif back to him, and together they headed back down Knockturn Alley.

“Professor, why do I need _two_ wands?” Harry asked as they walked.

“When you look at your wand from Ollivander with your new glasses, Mr Potter, you will find that there are tracking charms on it. They are activated from the moment that wand leaves the shop and will only fade after five years, meaning you will have passed your OWL exams and are legally permitted to use magic outside of school,” Loki explained. “I am not advising you to do anything _illegal_ , Mr Potter, but having a wand that does _not_ have such tracking spells on it for alternative use during the summer months is sensible. It will also enable you to _practice_ your spells during the summer without the trackers alerting the Ministry. Though I do advise you to be discrete about such,” he added firmly.

“Yes Sir,” Harry agreed quickly. “Sir, why do I even _need_ a wand?” he asked. “I mean...” he hesitated when Loki stopped walking and looked down at him. “I... _made things happen_ when I _didn't_ have one, so...”

Loki smiled. “Very good, Mr Potter,” he congratulated. “Yes, it is possible to learn to use magic without a wand, or a focus of any kind, for that matter, and indeed there are a great many types of magic that require no wand at all. My subject for one, Potions for another. But as you say, you made things happen without a wand. The trick, Mr Potter, is learning how to do them _on purpose_. To be able to _direct_ your magic. A wand, originally, was nothing more than a training tool, to help students get a feel for their magic. In more recent times, however, it has become a crutch, and the second greatest punishment any witch or wizard of this day faces is to have their wand taken from them and snapped.”

Harry frowned a moment in thought, chin nearly pressed flat to his chest. “I'm going to practice magic _without_ my wand,” he decided quietly.

Loki smiled. It wasn't a nice smile, but it was a victorious smile. “I really am _very_ pleased to hear you say that, Mr Potter,” he said, even as he placed his hand on the door of a shop called Cid's Tuning.

“Tuning, Sir?” Harry asked as he took in the sign.

Loki smiled. “The person here can craft and tune items to be aligned with your magic, so that they work _only_ for you, and bring out the best you have to offer,” he explained.

Harry nodded in acceptance and understanding.

“Hm, should probably _also_ buy you a holster and care-kit for your wand. Keeping it in your pocket isn't really the best of ideas,” Loki mused as he ushered Harry in.

“If you want me to do anything for the boy, I refuse,” the old woman at the counter said flatly, not even looking up from her magazine.

“Ma'am?” Loki questioned, caught off balance.

“I can tell from _here_ he has some sort of parasite leeching off of him. I'm not doing anything for the boy until he gets at least _that_ removed,” the woman explained. “It wouldn't be tuned _right_ , and I have a professional standard to uphold. The bindings and suppressors I could work around, but the leech? Not a chance.”

“Ah,” Loki said softly, and turned Harry around to examine him carefully. “Probably in this,” he decided, and gently tapped Harry's infamous scar.

“And no purification rituals _in my shop_ ,” the woman added sharply. “You'll upset some of the merchandise and probably botch it. Get the goblins to do it, they'll make sure it's cleaned off properly, and probably won't charge _too_ much for the service.”

“Thank you Ma'am,” Loki said with a smile, and urged Harry out of the shop and onto the streets once again.

The goblins of Gringotts didn't charge too much for the service, just as they were told, and Harry found that the ritual he was put through wasn't even painful, which he had sort of thought it would be, though he wouldn't be able to say why he'd thought that. It had been embarrassing though, as he'd been required to strip down to his birthday suit. He had definitely felt lighter afterwards though. The goblins informed him once he was redressed that they'd removed the suppressors and bindings and a great many other spells from his person in the same ritual, which would likely explain why he felt so light.

Spells upon a person, despite what people thought, _did_ have some physical weight. Not much to the individual spell, generally speaking, so people didn't really notice when a spell was cast on them, but as they piled on, so did the weight of them.

“Better,” the woman declared when they returned to her shop, and put her magazine away. “I'm Cid. What can I do you for?”

“A wand, or power-channelling device of some other sort if that would suit better, for the young man here,” Loki answered.

She nodded. “Alright,” she agreed. “Step up here and let me look at you. Leave your bird and that Ollivander bit with your dad, and anything else magical you're carrying too for that matter. They'll get in the way.”

Harry blinked at the 'dad' comment, but did as he was bid all the same, a questioning, doubtful look in his eye as he passed his possessions to the Professor.

He only seemed amused by the comment, but really, they _did_ have similar colouring: black hair, green eyes, and pale skin. It was a passable assumption, but one he didn't feel the need to comment upon.

The resultant object looked more like an exotic dagger than a wand, and it definitely had a sharp edge. It was a combination of unicorn ivory, silver, and ebony. The ivory and the silver made up the 'blade', while the ebony was the handle.

“You,” Cid informed Harry as she handed the thing over to him an hour after she'd started, “are a very strange young man. Do you want a sheath with that?”

“And a wand holster and maintenance kits to go with as well please,” Loki interjected.

Cid nodded in acceptance and rummaged through her shelves. She pulled things down and flicked her wand between Harry and the objects, nodded a few beats later in clear satisfaction, and then moved to her register. “Twenty galleons even for the lot,” she informed them.

Harry handed over the coins quickly.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry spent August – that _month_ between the day when he finally _got_ his letter (and ensuing shopping trip with Professor Loki) and the first of September when he would get on the train to Hogwarts – living out of his trunk just inside a fence than ran beside a road, hidden under a tree so that the farmer who _owned_ the land wouldn't take much (or any) notice of him.

He might possibly notice that there were a few less rabbits and game birds about though, thanks to Sif, but just as possibly he wouldn't.

He could have gone to one of the two 'estates' that were owned by the Potters, but one – in Godric's Hollow – was at least half blown to pieces and had been _left_ that way as a 'national monument' by the Ministry (Harry had ordered it sold), and the other was an absolutely _massive_ mansion that was probably six inches deep in dust and six _feet_ deep in some kind of snobbery that Harry would just feel awkward walking around in.

He figured he'd check it out when he was older. Maybe.

For now though, Harry really thought he was doing quite well living on his own. He'd made some of the potions in his potions books, the ones that were supposed to fix things like malnutrition and various other healing draughts among them, so now he wasn't just skin and bones, but there was muscle too, which he should have had long ago from all his heavy chores, but which poor diet had kept from developing. And he wasn't so short as to be confused with an eight-year-old any more either, which he was even more pleased about than the muscles and not looking like a skeleton in skin any more.

He'd had to go back to Diagon Alley for potions ingredients a couple of times, and he'd had to find a food market as well so that he'd have more than rabbit meat in fennel or pheasant and stewed nettles to eat, but it hadn't been a problem.

And now, Harry packed the few things that he'd kept out of his trunk back into it – which really just consisted of a tarp to keep the rain off the trunk (even if it was weather proof) and Sif's feeding platform – and shifted Sif to sit on his shoulder while he stuffed his trunk into his pocket.

He stepped up to the side of the empty road, held his wand aloft, and hushed Sif when the Knight Bus appeared with a _bang_. This was how he'd gotten back to Diagon Alley, how he'd gotten to the food markets, and how he'd gotten out to that field in the first place. Professor Loki had told him about the triple-decker purple bus when they'd parted ways at the end of the shopping venture.

“Since travelling through the spinning vortex that is the Floo system isn't something I recommend to anybody unless I don't like them, and it's illegal to apparate without a licence, unless it's accidental magic or you're in the stages of learning how for such a licence,” the professor had explained at the time.

The Knight Bus was a bumpy ride, but it existed for people like him – people who, for whatever reason, couldn't apparate, use the Floo, or had a destination that was too far to walk to or too conspicuous to fly to. Still, it encouraged him to practice his sticking spell every time he climbed aboard, with the way it tossed everything around as it hurtled down the streets.

He'd learned and practised other spells as well, as he found uses for them, but he couldn't do any of them without using his dagger-like wand. Well, not yet. He was getting closer though, he was sure – he didn't need to wave his wand around in the careful motions any more, or carefully intonate the incantations. Just point and will it. He was rather pleased with that sort of progress in just a month, even if it was only with certain spells.

He paid the fare to Stan (eleven sickles, so no hot chocolate, water bottle, or tooth brush for him this time), and was off to Kings Cross Station in no time flat.

There, Harry straightened his shirt as he climbed off the bus, thanked Ernie and Stan, and checked that his trunk hadn't fallen out of his pocket before he gave them both a final nod and walked into the station, ignoring the _bang_ of the bus disappearing again. Even if Sif screeched after it unhappily.

He got a few queer looks from the masses of adults in the station for walking around carrying a falcon on his wrist, and a few longing looks from girls who thought he was adorable or boys who thought his bird was cool, but Harry didn't mind them as he headed for the third pillar up the station between platforms nine and ten, and made sure to be stroking Sif's feathers to keep her calm as he casually walked through the magical barrier – just as Professor Loki had told him to.

~oOo~

On the train, Harry chose a compartment and set Sif on the railing of the over-head baggage rack, then took out his trunk and considered his options for books. Finally, he decided on _Maybe a Metamorph?_ A book which was subtitled _When Accidental Magic Changes Your Appearance – A Progression_. After all, he had made his hair grow back over night after a particularly hideous haircut by his aunt that one time.

He returned his trunk to his pocket, and got to reading.

He was early to the train station. The Hogwarts Express wasn't due to leave until eleven, but he'd hailed the Knight Bus at eight, reaching Kings Cross by eight-thirty. Harry managed to read his way through the first chapter before other students and their families started arriving at the station around ten. Of course, 'reading' in this instance included 'practising', having a go at the exercises listed throughout the chapters. Little things like making his nails longer, shorter, stronger, smoother... By the end of that little series of exercises, Harry figured that unless he participated in some activity that would completely butcher his nails, he'd never have to worry about them again, which was a bonus in his book.

There were other exercises too, mental disciplines that didn't appear to have anything to do with changing a person's appearance, but which Harry attempted as well. These were much harder, and the reason he'd only gotten to the end of the first chapter in an hour and a half.

With the arrival of other students, however, Harry put the book away. The very first page had stated very clearly that a metamorphmagus was safest if no one knew they possessed such talents. The first of the 'mental disciplines' had been to imagine a minimum of five the ways a bent government and/or underhanded individual might use a metamorphmagus for their own ends. Harry hadn't had to spend long on that one. He'd come up with ten rather quickly.

So, away went that book, and out came _Moste Potente Potions_ instead. One of the two great tomes given to him by the apothecary. The previous month had seen him study the text in a somewhat scattered fashion, so he decided to bypass the contents this time and start reading at the first page, rather than skipping off to a specific potion further in.

Harry set himself to memorising the details he found there, rather than simply reading them, and memorising all the warnings for if he did things wrong as well. So there he was, mumbling a recitation of a potion, his eyes shut and hands gripping the cover of the very large book, when there was a knock on the door of the compartment.

There was a dark-skinned boy of about Harry's age standing there.

“'Ello,” he greeted. “Can I sit with you? Don't much like the idea of sitting on me own, ya know? An' others I've asked... well, racist tossers the lot of 'em.”

Harry nodded to the other boy. “Help yourself,” he offered with a gesture to the opposite seat. Then glanced up at his bird. She was wearing her hood, so she couldn't _see_ his new compartment companion, still... “Just don't upset Sif,” he advised.

“Right you are,” the other boy agreed. “Thomas, by the way,” he supplied as he heaved his trunk into the compartment and shut the door behind. “Dean Thomas. Don't much care which you prefer to call me, long as it isn't 'Tommy'.”

Harry chuckled. “Potter,” he answered with a smile. “Harry. And likewise, but with 'Potty' in place of 'Tommy'.”

Dean grinned. “You got a deal,” he said. “So, your bird? Letter said owls, cats or toads,” he noted.

Harry closed his book with a gentle thump and set it cross-wise on his lap. “Yeah,” he agreed, “but I asked the professor who was helping me get my stuff, and it was the 'or' that was important, since at home there can be more than one pet. The point was that students are only allowed to bring _one_.”

Dean nodded in understanding. “Think I probably wouldn't be allowed to bring one of my family's terriers though,” he countered. “Could you imagine the terror of a dog in a boarding school that's got lots of cats in it?”

Harry grinned. “Sounds to me like a perfect reason to bring one,” he said with barely suppressed laughter.

The two boys chuckled together at the idea for a moment.

“So, what are you reading?” Dean asked, changing the subject. “It's not one that was on the standard book list.”

Harry shook his head. “No,” he agreed. “It's a big fat potions book. Useful though. I've already made six of the potions from this book.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “Two for fixing my bones – one so none of them are crooked from healing wrong after a break, and the other so they aren't weak from malnutrition any more. One was to fix my height, so I'm not as short as an eight-year-old any more. One's a nutrition potion, makes sure I get all my daily vitamins and minerals, and the last one's to boost my immune system, so I don't get as sick as easily.”

Dean blinked in surprise, and then frowned.

Harry could tell that the other boy wanted to ask why he'd needed those sorts of potions, but, well, those sorts of potions kind of spoke for themselves as well, and to ask could be considered rude, since they'd only just met.

“Don't worry about it,” Harry advised, and took his trunk out of his pocket to put the book away.

Dean stared in amazement as Harry re-shrunk the trunk and stuffed it back into his pocket. “Wow,” he breathed. “I didn't know you could get trunks that did that.”

“They took the sign down,” a voice complained with a sigh from beyond the door before Harry could answer. “They _always_ take the sign down.”

And then the door was opened to reveal a slightly older boy who _also_ had dark skin, though not as dark as Dean, and had wild dreadlocks rather than having his hair cut close to his head the way Dean did.

“Firsties,” the boy stated when he saw them. “Well, I suppose it can't be helped. Lads, this here is the compartment that me and my mates _always_ use. I'm not gonna kick you out, you were here before I was and I'm not that kind of guy, but I hope you two aren't waiting for anybody else.”

Dean shook his head, and Harry shrugged.

“I met a girl when I was doing my shopping that said she'd look for me on the train,” he said, “but otherwise,” he finished, and shook his head as well.

“Bril,” the older boy said. “I'm Lee by the way, Lee Jordan.”

“Dean Thomas.”

“My bird is Sif,” Harry started. “Mind her, the man I bought her from says she's very selective about her company. I'm Harry Potter.”

Lee blinked and his jaw fell open as he stared at Harry. “Cor, really?” he asked.

“Not _that_ Harry Potter,” he protested with a sensible tone of voice. “I'm a _different_ one.”

Lee blinked a couple of times, then smiled, then grinned, then laughed. “Good one,” he said. “I got ya though. No prob.”

Harry nodded gratefully.

“Er...” Dean said, confusion on his face.

Lee smiled and sat down next to the boy. “Harry Potter is famous for having off'd an evil wanker when he was still in nappies,” he explained. “There's story books of his adventures since and all sorts of guff. Our lad here was just informing me very shortly that he isn't the story book Harry Potter.”

“The story books have Harry Potter as descended from Merlin, riding wild dragons at five and vanquishing more evil wizards at eight with incredible feats of magic,” Harry illuminated. “Safe to say I'm not, I wasn't and if I was then I probably wouldn't need to be here now.”

Dean and Lee both laughed in agreement.

~oOo~

Lee's friends showed up just minutes before the train jerked into motion. Time enough for introductions, a warning to not approach Sif if she wasn't hooded or in Harry's company, and for the twin red-heads who'd joined them to get over the celebrity bit.

“Thought you said that your younger brother was coming this year,” Lee commented to his friends – Fred and George Weasely, they'd been introduced as.

“Ickle Ronniekins,” said one with an unhappy twist to his mouth.

“We told him you got permission to bring your pet tarantula to school,” the other said.

“And he bolted,” finished the first.

“But I don't have a pet tarantula,” Lee pointed out with a slightly confused face.

“Doesn't matter,” the twins said at the same time, both shrugging absently.

“It meant we don't have to put up with the twit,” explained... Fred. Harry was fairly sure it was the one who'd been introduced as Fred.

“Ron's a brat,” George, or, well, the other twin explained to Harry and Dean. “Complains all the time about never getting anything new.”

“Like it's important,” Fred quipped, disgusted.

“Parvenu,” George grumbled.

“And dim to boot,” Fred added lamented, but not at all dramatically, so he clearly wasn't joking about this. “Bill's a genius, Charlie's a genius, we're geniuses, even stick-up-his-bum-Percy's got a brain between his ears that he can use to devastating effect when he cares to. But not Ickle Ronniekins.”

“Acts like the world owes him a living, rather'n wanting to make the effort to better himself,” George agreed glumly.

“Oi!” Lee snapped at his friends. “You two are the pranksters of Hogwarts. What are you doin' sulking?” he demanded.

Fred and George both smiled in answer.

“Can't pick your family,” Harry joined in. “Ignore them when they're annoying, correct them if you can, it's their lives to screw up though.”

“Well said!” the twins cheered together, and visibly relaxed.

And then Dean changed the subject. “Pranksters?” he asked.

Fred and George both grinned, and Harry couldn't help but think that their grins looked a bit like Professor Loki's grin. He wondered if they were related, briefly, before he realised what it was he was seeing: a smile full of mischief and teeth.

Hermione found the compartment not long after that, and while Dean stared at her in horror as she rattled off questions a mile a minute at the older students, they seemed to love it, even when she left them completely stumped for an answer.

The twins seemed to like those questions the best, actually.

“Why didn't we ever think of that Gred?”

“I really don't know Forge.”

“Well, it's thought of now Gred.”

“Indeed it is Forge.”

“It needs investigating Gred.”

“I couldn't agree more Forge.”

And then they would turn to Hermione and both shake her firmly by the hand and thank her for bringing whatever it was to their attention. The same hand. At the same time. It made her bushy hair bounce a bit as she was rocked by the momentum.

Lee, meanwhile, placed a comforting hand on Dean's shoulder. “I think it's because they're used to sharing sentences that they aren't intimidated by how fast she talks,” he whispered.

Dean nodded weakly.

Harry just quietly chuckled to himself the whole while, though he interjected when he knew something, from his reading, that Hermione hadn't come across in her reading yet – and which the older students were generally able to confirm or deny.

~oOo~

A chocolate frog, a traded sandwich, a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans (shared, with jocular comparisons on what flavours they got as the box was passed around) and a boat ride later, and Harry was waiting to be sorted with the other first years.

Harry had little care for house prejudices, he hadn't been raised with them, but a little research had him noting that the only houses he was likely to be completely safe from people who'd had family who served the evil twit he'd supposedly off'd as an infant would be Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, and even those there was still a good chance of them being related to somebody who had a grudge against him for it. Pure-blood inbreeding. However, there was a much lower likelihood of them carrying the grudge as well in those houses than in Ravenclaw or Slytherin, where there seemed to be a bit more elitism bred into them – though for different reasons.

“Well thought out,” the Hat congratulated him when it was dropped down over his ears. Adult-sized hat on child-sized head. Just too big and doomed to always sink down. But that was somewhat the point, really. “And of the two remaining choices, I know just where to put you. You'll even have friends there already.”

And then Harry was sent off into Gryffindor, where Harry sat down between Hermione and – he was fairly sure – Fred.

There had been rather a lot of ridiculous cheering for him when he'd been sent to Gryffindor, but Lee, Fred, George and Hermione had all just smiled at him and quietly welcomed him when he sat down with them. None of the ridiculous hooting of claiming a celebrity that most of the _rest_ of the students at the long table had performed.

The meal was... heavy. Harry was acutely aware, after his childhood diet of very little (if anything at all) and his more recent forays into mealtimes of lean and healthy foods, that a great deal of what was laid out before him was either fatty, sugary, oily, greasy, or starchy. So, to make the best of it, he took a few slices of roast meat and simply cut off the fatty bits, took a helping of roasted vegetables (they'd been roasted in fat, yes, but they really were the healthiest option that he could see), and drank water rather than the strange, near toxic-orange pumpkin juice.

He was fairly sure that there wasn't anything that was naturally that colour. At least, that wasn't poisonous.

“I hope all meals aren't like this,” he queried in Fred's direction.

“Oh there's almost always roast to be had,” Fred answered easily. “Roast beef, roast pork with crackling, roast chicken, roast turkey, fish on Fridays, then roast duck, and a ham on Sundays. It's only ever all on option for feasts though.”

Harry blinked. “I was kind of hoping for something... less heavy?” he suggested hopefully.

Fred shrugged easily. “Then your best bet is to go down to the kitchens, let 'em know what your preferences are,” he answered.

“We'll give you a grand tour of the secret passages and such next Sunday,” George promised, then smirked at Harry. “Think you can stand the 'heavy' fare that long?” he joked.

“I'll have to,” Harry answered in as best a humour as he could manage.

After dinner was announcements – forbidden items list on Mr Filch's door, no magic in the halls, avoid some particular corridor on pain of painful death – and then off to bed.

“I wonder what's in the third floor corridor,” Hermione said softly to Harry as she walked beside him up the many stairs.

“I don't,” Harry answered firmly.

“You aren't curious?” Hermione asked incredulously.

“Granger, there are many types of curiosity,” Harry said, and proceeded to divulge a small portion of the lessons he had learned from the Dursleys. “What you are proposing, I categorise as unsafe curiosity. The sort of curiosity that _killed the cat_ ,” he said firmly. “And which no amount of satisfaction could bring back.”

Hermione pouted, but recognised that Harry would not be further drawn on the subject.


	4. Chapter 4

On receiving his class timetable the next morning, Harry frowned at it. There was a distinct lack as regards to certain subjects that he would have expected from an educational establishment. Now, granted, there hadn't been anything in his letter to indicate that such courses would be offered... All the same, he was mildly frustrated that they weren't.

In which case, he supposed, it was just as well that he'd listened to Professor Loki's advice and bought a number of second-hand text books on his venture through Portobello Road. He would work his way through each of them after he finished whatever homework was assigned in his classes.

Classes which, really, weren't that hard. Herbology was little more than gardening with a different selection of plants, Astrology was really nothing more than memorising star-charts and the shifts that came with the seasons, History of Magic was best spent with earplugs in and working on homework or reading a text ordered from Italy (again on Professor Loki's advice), and Defence Against the Dark Arts was currently basic defensive spells, little things that might allow the person casting them to get away faster. Charms and Transfiguration were fairly theory-heavy at the moment, but with the promise of practical lessons later in the term. Potions...

Harry quickly saw what the woman in the apothecary had meant about the professor, and was glad that his upbringing (cooking for the Dursleys every day from the moment he could stand up without having to be held up) and his own personal needs (cooking for himself when he finally escaped them) had seen to his knowing a little bit more than just the basics.

Still, he hadn't known the answers to the questions Professor Snape had sprung on him beyond the one about the beozar. It's ability to counter most poisons meant it also got used in a few healing potions that he'd concocted prior to arriving at Hogwarts.

“Clearly, fame isn't everything,” Snape had stated with a sneer.

“If I could not be famous, Sir, I would much prefer it,” Harry had answered seriously.

An answer which seemed to surprise the man, though he hadn't done more than twitch one eyebrow in response. Harry figured that was his way of communicating an incredulous “Indeed?” but without speaking.

Still, he got on well enough, and paired with Dean who, owing to having younger half-siblings, had some experience of helping his mother in the kitchen. It wasn't quite potion making, but Dean knew how to stir the cauldron while Harry did the chopping, slicing, dicing, paring, measuring, and adding. Essentially everything else. Dean did the stirring and the double-checking, but Harry did the rest.

They had a pretty good potion to hand in at the end of the lesson as well. More than could be said for Ron Weasley where he was working with Seamus Finnegan. Their potion had _burped_ a half-hour in and turned grey before hardening in the cauldron. Complete failure. Neville Longbottom had almost caused an explosion, but Hermione (who he'd been partnered with) had caught the near-error and saved their potion.

As promised, the twins showed Harry down to where the kitchens were on Sunday, and explained along the way about the elves that lived and worked there – and that he was not to insult them, as it was the elves who always provided the supplies for any parties that were thrown in the common room.

~oOo~

Halloween was... well, when Quirrell had burst in on the evening feast yelling about a troll, Harry's faith in the supposedly safest place in Britain (apart from Gingotts) took a nose dive. And he hadn't exactly had a mountain of it to begin with. Being ordered to leave the safety of the Great Hall to wander the corridors to get to common rooms... well, Harry was just glad that they had all made it to their common rooms.

Hermione had tried to get Harry interested in investigating what a troll was doing in the castle, but Harry had flatly refused to become involved. He'd accidentally killed an evil man as a child, yes, but that did not make him a Hero (capital letter and all), as they had a propensity for getting themselves unnecessarily killed. He had little to no faith in authority figures, granted, but he also knew that cleaning up that sort of mess was their job, and not his.

Hermione had pouted for a while, but let the matter go and returned to her homework.

When the Christmas holidays rolled around, Harry was content to pack up his trunk and accept Hermione's invitation to spend the first night of the holidays at her house. The Weasley twins (and their two other brothers still in schooling) were remaining at Hogwarts for the holidays as their parents and younger sister were going to Romania for the holiday, Lee had chosen to stay as well, and Dean had suggested Harry might prefer to visit him during the summer break, when things wouldn't be so frantic about the coming of Santa and such. He had a couple of younger half-siblings after all, and they'd be all mad fired up about presents.

Harry was only going to stay with Hermione and her parents for one night though. He was a free and independent individual now, and after living for a month on his own in an English field, and then with lots of other people in a Scottish castle, Harry wanted to see more of the world.

From the Granger's house, Harry would be able to make travel arrangements.

“What are your plans Harry?” Hermione asked while the group of friends were sat around their chosen table, playing a card game. Just normal cards though, rather than with an Exploding Snap deck. They'd been discussing holiday plans already, so it was hardly out of line with the conversation. “After your over-night stay with me, I mean.”

“Let me grab an atlas,” he excused himself quickly, and dashed up to his dorm to get the book from his bag, as well as the match he'd been practising transfiguring with. The match-to-needle lesson was not the most recent one from McGonagall, but he was working on making it a different sort of needle or progressively more elaborate pins, working on his creativity.

He set the book down, closed, transfigured the match into a small dart rather than a needle or pin – on a side note, he was rather pleased with how it came out – and with a grin, opened the book to a random page before throwing the dart. Not even looking where he threw it.

“I guess I'm going to Brazil,” Harry answered with a smile. The idea appealed to him, and he wondered absently if that python from the zoo had ever made it. Probably not.

“Harry!” Hermione objected, wide-eyed. “You can't just decide where to go to like that!”

Harry smiled serenely at the girl. “But I just did,” he pointed out.

Hermione's response to this was to look like she was ready to blow her top. “You have no idea about what sort of safety considerations you will need to make for such a place,” she started. “You don't speak the language, or know anything about the culture, or- or- or anything!”

Harry chuckled. “But that's why I'm going,” he said easily. “To learn those sorts of things. Eventually I hope to see the whole world. What does it matter where I go first?” he asked.

“Really Hermione,” Lee said kindly, laying a hand on the young witch's shoulder. “I'm sure Harry will be fine.”

“But there are diseases he could catch! He could be robbed! Murdered!” Hermione objected.

“Wizards don't get muggle diseases Granger,” Fred (or possibly George) said.

“Our magic just... stops 'em before they can get hold,” George (we'll go with that until proven otherwise) added.

“A real nice perk,” Lee added with a grin.

“Oh,” Hermione said softly, stunned a moment. It didn't take her long to rally though. “That still leaves the possibility of being mugged and murdered though!”

“Oi,” Dean said, a frown on his face as he turned to Harry. “I thought you said you'd made a potion to boost your immune system so you wouldn't get sick as easy.”

Harry nodded. “It's a rare one,” he admitted. “Generally used on magical children who have a weaker disposition. Our magic can fight off muggle illnesses, but it still wears us out a bit. You see a wizard or witch who's feeling tired or sluggish or taking more naps than usual, they could be fighting off anything from a cold to the plague. But the energy for the magic to fight off the illness has to come from somewhere. If I've got a better immune system in the first place, then my magic won't have to work so hard.”

“Didn't know that,” Fred and George admitted as Dean and Hermione both made “Oh” sounds of understanding.

And then Hermione got back to berating Harry for not taking the dangers of travelling seriously enough. Harry just smiled through it all though, and when she demanded to know if he even had a passport, Harry was happy to produce one. He'd been planning on travelling the world since October, so he was ready in that department at least.

~oOo~

He'd started in the Amazon. Took a canoe down the Amazon River, in fact, and got to speak with many interesting people (and more than a few interesting snakes) as he travelled slowly down one of the longest rivers in the world. Once he'd hit the ocean, he'd skipped over to Bahia (which had been fun), moved on to enjoy Christmas Eve and Day in Rio (as well as a few other surrounding days), and now he was in Sao Paulo for the New Year before he'd have to head back to the chill of Scotland in winter.

“Mr Potter,” a cool, cultured, and most interestingly of all, British-accented voice greeted with a hint of surprise.

Harry turned from his breakfast (some local delicacy he wasn't sure he dared question the contents of, but it was good and it didn't weigh on his stomach the way Hogwarts fare had done), and was surprised to see Professor Loki standing there. In black skinny jeans and a loose green collared shirt (top two buttons undone, and with short sleeves in deference to the heat).

“Professor,” he greeted in return, a smile on his face. “What a pleasant surprise. Would you care to join me for breakfast?” he offered with a gesture towards the free chair that was propped up at the table he'd chosen.

Loki lowered himself onto the white-pained wrought-iron chair.

“You are looking healthier than the last time we shared a meal at a street vendor's stall,” Loki noted with a smile after the waiter took his order and left them. “Though I must say, I am surprised to see you all the way out here.”

Harry smiled in non-answer. After all, Professor Loki hadn't asked him a question yet.

A smile spread over Loki's face when he realised what Harry was doing. “Smart lad,” he approved softly. “If I were to ask you, Mr Potter, would you tell me how you come to be in Brazil?”

“I might,” Harry agreed with a nod. “It might be a smart-arse answer though,” he warned happily.

Loki's smile stretched a little wider in approval. “Good lad,” he praised. “No professor has any right to any answers from you out of term unless they pertain directly to your schooling.”

“Professor Loki, if you're warning me about the Headmaster's possible motives as regards to my property and person, you did that quite successfully the day we met,” Harry said lightly.

Loki chuckled. “You've an adult tongue in your head,” he informed the eleven-year-old with amusement and veiled approval.

Harry stuck it out childishly.

Loki only laughed a little louder, and then his order was brought out. The same whatever-it-was that Harry had ordered. “Then I'll ask an academic question,” Loki suggested as he separated a mouthful-worth from the rest of the dish. “How are you getting on with the languages?” he asked, before scooping up the portion from his plate and closing his mouth over it.

Harry nodded absently. “I'm getting on fairly well I think,” he said. “I bought a primer and a bi-lingual dictionary before I left England, studied them on the plane flight over,” he offered.

Loki nodded in approval. Translation charms were all very well, but they were also cheating, to an extent, and were not actually any good for _learning_ languages.

The rest of the breakfast was companionable, but they parted ways when they had both finished eating. They'd be back at Hogwarts soon enough, so it wasn't like they weren't ever going to see each other again, even if Harry wasn't old enough to be in Loki's class yet.

Later that day, Harry stopped briefly to join the crowd as they stood well back and watched as a hospital burned. Harry didn't know that Loki also stood at the back of another part of the crowd and, with an inscrutable expression on his face, kept his eyes locked on a woman with red hair, rather than the raging fire that matched it.

~oOo~

There was a small pile of gifts waiting for Harry on his assigned four-posted bed when he returned, lightly tanned, from his holiday. Mostly sweets, but Hermione had sent him a book. He'd sent his friends interesting trinkets that he'd found in Brazil. Apart from the book and the large pile of various types of lollies and chocolates, there were two other packages. A carved wooden flute from Hagrid was inside one, and the other didn't list who it was from, save that whatever-it-was had been left in this person's care by Harry's dad.

Harry narrowed his eyes at that, checked the package with the glasses that spotted jinxes, and unwrapped the package when he was assured that there weren't any.

It was a cloak.

Harry swapped his glasses again, this time for the pair that could see tracking spells and frowned to see that the cloak was playing host to three of the things. He didn't know how to remove tracking spells himself. It hadn't been covered in class, and he hadn't directed his personal studies in that direction yet. The goblins knew how though. They'd removed all those spells from him before term, after all. Taking the cloak to them would be something to do when the next holiday rolled around.

If he hadn't learned on his own by then.

Apart from that, Harry was careful to separate the sweets that Dean had given him from the pile that came courtesy of the practical-joking third years – no, Lee wasn't as bad as the twins, and he certainly wasn't as creative, but he'd have a go if he saw an opportunity. Any foodstuffs from them would be shared, rather than simply indulged in.

Just in case.

The rest of the school year passed fairly uneventfully. Neville joined the group of friends for study since he was always Hermione's partner in Potions class – she'd been trying to get him to join them since the very first Potions class, but it was only after Christmas that he caved and joined them – but that was really the only change.

And Quirrell disappeared the week of the exams, shortly after Hagrid was discovered keeping a young dragon in his wooden hut – its tail had been seen sticking out the window, and Harry had personally thought the large man had done very well to keep his wooden hut from catching fire and going up like a torch. But nothing else all that remarkable happened with the year.

Well, apart from the news in _The Daily Prophet_ that a six-hundred-plus couple were finally writing their wills since their Philosopher's Stone had been destroyed, and that the stone had been made in an accident anyway, one unlikely to ever be replicated, so they couldn't make another one.

~oOo~

If Hermione had known where his carelessly thrown dart had landed on the randomly opened atlas this time, she would have had a fit. Harry was in Afghanistan. Not much of a holiday spot, granted, but he'd bought himself a camel (didn't need a license to drive one of those after all, and he could re-sell it before leaving the country), and he and Sif had headed off into the desert. Though, granted, not before Harry was certain he'd at least partially mastered the spell that would condense water out of the air, so he didn't have to worry about running out of water in the desert.

About three weeks into his desert wanderings – which he'd personally really enjoyed, and he was fairly sure Sif had too – he saw some big explosion a few dunes away and something being spat out in roughly his direction.

Whatever it was, it hadn't blown up on impact, and Harry decided to investigate. After all, it could have been something interesting or valuable that had been lifted high and flung out by the explosion.

What it turned out to be was a person. An injured person in the remains of plate armour and a mess of wires.

“The crusaders could have told you that plate armour in the desert doesn't work out so well,” Harry joked to the man as he helped get the debris off him and pull him out of the sand.

“Who are you?” the man asked.

“Harry, pleased to meet you Mr...?”

The man blinked. “Tony Stark,” he answered, a little bewildered.

Harry smiled. “Well, at least you can remember your own name after a crash landing like that,” he said, “and it's probably thanks to the sand here being so soft, even if it's causing problems now.”

“Probably right kid,” Tony Stark agreed.

“Harry, not 'kid',” Harry said firmly as he helped the grown man to his feet. “How'd you get out here?”

“Kidnapped by, and only just escaped from, a pack of terrorists,” Tony answered. There was an unhappy snarl on his face that wasn't directed at Harry when he said that.

“Sorry I asked,” Harry said, and walked over to where he'd had the camel sit down and grabbed the water bottle that, really, he only had strapped there because it came with the camel. A bonus for paying in cash. Still, he'd kept it full. “Here you go Mr Stark,” he offered as he returned with it, and held it out to the man. “Being blown up probably left you thirsty.”

“Blown up? I wasn't blown up!”

“So that big ka-boom I saw you being propelled out of wasn't an explosion?” Harry countered dryly, still holding out the water bottle.

“Smart-ass kid,” Tony grumbled. “Thanks,” he added as he accepted the water. That was definitely a sigh of grateful relief when he finally lowered it from his mouth. “Don't suppose you know which way it is from here to the closest thing resembling civilisation?” he asked hopefully. “I'd settle for tagging along with your caravan or whatever until we hit a city.”

Harry chuckled. “No caravan Mr Stark,” he answered. “Just me, the camel, and Sif.”

“Sif?” Tony asked.

Harry pointed to where Sif was perched, hooded for now, on the saddle horn.

“Oh.”

Harry chuckled. “Come on Mr Stark,” he urged. “I've been travelling north since my holiday started. We just turn around and head south. I only passed through a town three days ago.”

Actually, he'd seen Professor Loki there too. They'd shared a plate of candied locusts and exchanged reviews of their holiday reading so far. A very pleasant conversation really.

Tony sighed gratefully. “Thank you,” he said sincerely, and let Harry help him onto the back of the camel's saddle.

For the three days they travelled together, Harry learned about Tony Stark – and why the man had been so surprised that Harry hadn't heard of him – and Tony Stark learned about Harry... and just why Harry hadn't heard of him. Tony got to spend three days being impressed by Harry's ability to take care of himself as well. Well, himself, two animals, and a recently not-a-hostage-any-more billionaire.

Sif brought in small game that Harry (and it had to be Harry, Tony had learned that Sif did not like him, but while she was hooded she pretended that he wasn't there) accepted from her, then skinned, gutted, and cooked over an open fire which he made himself with just a bit of rock and that odd knife of his that he wouldn't let Tony touch. Harry would also stop at seemingly random and dig up something that got added to the fire in the evenings and proved to be very tasty. And somehow, the water never ran out. Tony wasn't sure if that was because Harry rationed it really well, or if he went to find water in the night while Tony was sleeping, or what, but... it didn't run out.

“I owe you Harry,” Tony informed the boy as the town came into sight. “I owe you big.”

“Write to me,” Harry answered with a smile. “Even if it's complicated science stuff that I probably won't understand, write to me anyway.”

One of the first things to happen to him as a result of getting... purged of all the spells on him by the goblins was that he'd suddenly gotten a lot of mail. Eleven years worth of mail, in point of fact. It had taken a while, but he'd gotten it all sorted through and answered and now he didn't get fan mail any more (thank goodness). But still, actually getting mail was something to be enjoyed when it happened.

“You have a P/O box or something?” Tony asked. “You said your boarding school wasn't on the grid. I'm not sure I believe that, but...”

Harry nodded. “If it makes you feel better, I didn't believe it either until I got there,” he offered with a slightly resigned smile. “When we find somewhere with paper and pen, I'll write the mailing address down for you,” he said.

Tony nodded in agreement.

Harry urged his camel to pick up the pace for the home-stretch. The animal could smell the water of the wells already. It didn't need much encouragement.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry got a letter on the second of August. A letter that contained his exam scores and the book list required for the coming school year. The poor old owl that had delivered the letter was thoroughly exhausted when it reached him in Afghanistan. He settled it on the saddle horn, letting Sif ride on his shoulder, and headed towards the nearest magical settlement. The map he'd bought of magical sites around the world was very useful, as was the compass he'd bought before even entering the desert. In the magical district of Fayazabad, he did a bit of shopping (though none of the books on the book list were purchased. He had the full set of _The Standard Book of Spells_ , and had no interest in wasting money on a full set of the works of Gilderoy Lockhart – he'd looked through one of his books the first time he was in Diagon Alley and had not been impressed), and in particular he purchased a bird-standard portkey that would take the delivery owl back to England.

For himself? Well, it was only another week to a city with an airport, and once he reached it he'd sell his camel. It had been a good camel, and honestly he'd grown rather fond of it (whatever Tony Stark had to say about the uncomfortable rocking or the smell), but it really wasn't at all sensible to try and take it back to the UK with him. It would be absolutely miserable in the cold for one thing. It would be an absolute bugger to get through customs for another.

Once he (and Sif) were back in England, Harry had pulled out his little address book and opened it to the T section. Thomas, Dean was the only entry there, and Harry made his way to the nearest public phone to give his friend a call. He had said Harry should call him when he got back from his holiday adventures, come for a visit, meet the family and all that.

One phone call later, and Harry was on his way to Westminster, where Dean's family lived. He only stayed over with his friend one night though. Dean's younger half-siblings were quite lively enough without the excitement of Christmas upon them (so were the family's terrier dogs for that matter). Dean had laughed at Harry as he'd said goodbye and promised to see him on the Express on the first.

Harry had stopped by a stationers for some envelopes and a few sheets of loose paper, written off a few quick letters to let Lee, the twins, Neville and Hermione know that he was back from his latest adventures, but to not bother with sending him owls as he'd see them all soon enough. That done, he bought a stamp and mailed Hermione's letter before heading to Diagon Alley to send the other letters by owl.

Since he was in the alley, Harry saw to a few other things he'd been meaning to. He went back to the optometrist to make sure that his prescription was still good. It wasn't. He needed his lenses changed. Since the enchantments were in the frames, however, that wasn't a problem.

With that sorted out, Harry went to the goblins to see about the tracking spells they had removed from the cloak that had apparently belonged to his father. He'd given it to them at the beginning of the holidays, left them coin, and they had promised to put the cloak in his vault when they were done removing the spells and investigating the matter.

The goblins were quite upset to learn that someone other than them had been holding onto anything that belonged to Harry's parents. It should all have been in the family vault unless Harry himself had withdrawn it.

… Or it had been stolen from the house in Godric's Hollow before the goblins had arrived to collect all the valuables up for placement in the family vault. They'd collected books, jewellery, little handmade glass statues, paintings, undamaged furniture, kitchen goods, and of course the Potter's wands... but they either hadn't known about this cloak to notice that they hadn't collected it, or the goblin who should have collected it had lied about having done so.

That called for an investigation once the ritual to remove the unwanted spells was conducted. It turned up that a goblin had lied about collecting it, rather than the goblins not knowing about the valuable invisibility cloak. A bribe had been paid to this goblin for his lie. A hefty bribe, paid by one Albus Dumbledore.

The goblin was executed and his personal assets split between the bank he had betrayed and the customer who he had broken trust with – the greater portion going to the bank, of course.

Harry thanked them sincerely for all the efforts they had taken in his absence, paid a little more gold (since they had done more than the initial fee had covered), and retrieved the original invisibility cloak from the tale of the three Peverell brothers (they'd confirmed that too) from his vault.

~oOo~

“Harry Potter must not go to Hoggy-Warts!” a small creature with big eyes and floppy ears insisted as Harry skinned a rabbit that Sif had caught. Sif immediately dive-bombed the thing, pinning it to the ground beneath her claws. Harry recognised it as a house elf, though it wasn't as clean as any of the house elves in the Hogwarts kitchens were.

Harry had set himself up in a field again, a different one to the August before his first year, but a field with rabbits, pheasants and other such all the same, and he did the skinning and gutting of the animals outside of his trunk. Sif could chow on the entrails as she liked, and if Harry wanted the skins or the feathers for anything he'd collect them up before he headed in. He just didn't do the task inside his trunk. He didn't fancy having to live with the smell, after all.

“Why?” he asked the elf as he carefully collected Sif from on top of it and moved her to his shoulder. “And for that matter, who are you and who is your master?”

“The Great Harry Potter asks Dobby's name!” the elf cried happily. “Dobby knew Harry Potter was great, but to ask the name of a lowly house elf!”

Harry sighed, and waited out the raptures of the little creature. The elves at Hogwarts weren't nearly so excitable, but they still took even little compliments to be very big things.

“Why must I not go to Hogwarts Dobby?” Harry asked again. “And who is your master?”

“Dobby cannot say!” the elf wailed. “He is a bad elf and must be punished!”

Harry sighed again and waited for the elf to stop banging his head on the ground. So one of his questions at least, Dobby couldn't answer. Now it was a matter of figuring out which of his questions was the problem.

“Dobby,” Harry said firmly once the elf had finished trying to concuss itself. “Why must I not go to Hogwarts?” he asked.

“Harry Potter will be in danger!” Dobby answered earnestly.

Harry stared at the elf and resisted the urge to sigh a third time. “From explosions in Potions class?” he guessed. “Always a hazard. Perhaps from the carnivorous plants in Herbology?” he suggested. “Though I'm fairly sure we don't get onto those until third year. Maybe from my fellow students? There is that little trio in Slytherin who like to pick on the kids who weren't raised in magical households, but they haven't really bothered me at all.”

Dobby wrung his ears in his bony little hands and fidgeted nervously.

“Really, I appreciate the warning Dobby,” Harry said, “but I will still be going to Hogwarts on the first of September. Even if I have to walk to get there,” he added solemnly.

“But Great Harry Potter must be kept safe!” Dobby objected, near tears.

“I do, in fact, value my happiness just as highly as I value my safety, Dobby,” Harry said, as kindly as he could, “and I would be happy to see my friends at Hogwarts, even if that put my life at risk. Better a life that is short but happy than one that is long but unhappy.”

Dobby wilted where he stood, and sniffled. “Dobby understands,” he said sadly. “Dobby hopes that the Great Harry Potter will be safe and happy though,” he added, and then he popped away.

“I hope so too, Dobby,” Harry murmured to himself, a small wistful smile on his face. “I hope so too.”

~oOo~

As a second year, Harry was now permitted to own his own broomstick that had been enchanted for flight. Flying lessons were part of the second year timetable, which they had not been for first years. Didn't want to tempt the firsties, or some such. It also meant that those who were keen on flying could buy and bring their own brooms and learn on them, and those who weren't keen on flying could learn on the school brooms, which were loaded with safety spells, couldn't go faster than a walking pace, and wouldn't go higher than five feet off the ground.

Harry wasn't sure about the whole thing. Certainly he liked the idea of flying, but he wasn't so sure about having a length of wood between his legs being the thing that held him aloft. Frankly, it looked painful. Magic carpets, on the other hand, had looked really comfortable when he'd seen a few for sale in Afghanistan. They hadn't looked very tasteful, which had kept him from buying one, but they'd looked a good deal more comfortable. Still, he'd gone to the shop that sold broomsticks on the absolutely last day of August, at which point all the school-shoppers were either finished or frantic, and had a look around.

Harry looked at a broom that had 'Cleansweep 7' written on the handle, one of several on display – there being a five and a six sharing the same rack, while there were brooms with 'Comet 260' written on them, and further along there were brooms with 'Twigger 90', 'Nimbus 2000' and 'Nimbus 2001' on the handles. Harry pulled a face as he looked at them. They all still looked dreadfully uncomfortable to him.

The shop clerk must have seen him pull that face though, as he chuckled.

“Had a tumble from one have you?” he asked.

“Never been on one that I can remember,” Harry answered as he turned from the brooms to face the man. “They all look uncomfortable though,” he said, hoping that such a comment would induce the man to provide information on his stock.

The man smiled widely. “That was true enough, once,” he agreed, “so it was only witches could ride them for a long while, but that was before a clever wizard figured out how to do built-in cushioning charms, so us male riders could have a comfortable seat as well.”

“Oh,” Harry said softly as he nodded along in appreciation of this information. “Alright then. What do you recommend for a first-time flyer? I'm not sure how much I'll actually end up liking flying, but I know I like the idea of it.”

The shopkeeper nodded and moved to take a broomstick with 'Comet 260' off the rack. “The Comet Trading Company were the first ones to figure out breaking spells for their brooms, and they'll give you good speed and manoeuvrability, but you'll probably want to trade up in a year or two,” he explained. “Of course, next year,” he looked covertly around the shop and leant in to whisper, “I'll be getting in something that will leave everything I've got in stock right now in the dust. Even the Nimbus 2001, which is a big hit with the quidditch teams.”

Harry chuckled in appreciation of the information.

“So you take a year to get the hang of flying on something like this,” the man said as he straightened up, “and then next year you'll really be ready for the brooms that will see you going from the top end of Scotland to the bottom end of England in no more than three hours. Or,” he allowed, setting the Comet 260 back on the shelf and taking the Nimbus 2001 instead, “you could go straight into a good broom that will take care of you for a good ten years, easy. And who knows what the broomstick companies will come up with in that amount of time,” he pointed out with a smile.

Harry smiled back. “I think I'll go with the Nimbus,” he decided. Of all the uncomfortable-looking brooms that were available to him, the Nimbus 2001 looked the smoothest and... least uncomfortable option. If it also had spells on it so that it actually was comfortable to ride, then all the better. If he decided he really liked flying, then maybe he'd get this broomstick that was going to come out next year that would go stupidly fast. Maybe.

~oOo~

“Huh,” Harry said softly as he looked at the strange winged horses that were pulling the coaches, but he shook his head and climbed in without making any further comment.

“Oh I'm so excited!” Hermione exclaimed as she was practically vibrating in place where she sat between Dean and Lee – Harry took the last seat available between Fred (he was fairly sure he could tell them apart now) and the wall of the carriage. “To think! Gilderoy Lockhart is going to be our Defence teacher this year!”

Harry saw Lee, Dean, and Neville (who was also on the opposite side of the carriage) all roll their eyes, and was fairly sure the twins had as well. Hermione had said exactly the same thing at intervals of approximately one hour throughout the train ride to the castle. She'd interrupted Harry's, Lee's, and the Twin's tales of what they'd gotten up to during their holidays with that rapturous exclamation. Dean and Neville had escaped being interrupted by having kept their holiday stories short enough that Hermione didn't have the chance to interrupt them. Even out of the blue as they were sharing a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans – Hermione had just pronounced her bean as being peppermint, and then swooned over Gilderoy Lockhart being their professor.

When Hermione had left them to change into her robes, the boys had all agreed: self-study for that subject and either re-selling Lockhart's books or indulging in burning them at the end of the year when it was guaranteed they wouldn't need to be referenced for any homework assignments the twit might hand out. It was also agreed that they wouldn't be informing Hermione of this plan. She would almost certainly get defensive of the fop and his ridiculous books.

After all, she hadn't even blinked when Harry had said he was in Afghanistan and had rescued an American from the desert after he'd blown himself up to escape his kidnappers. She would normally have gone off at him about a) being in Afghanistan, b) travelling in the desert alone, c) being anywhere near an explosion and d) being anywhere near people who kidnapped people. She didn't though. She was deep in la-la land with the prospect of learning from Gilderoy Lockhart. It was somewhat nauseating, actually.

~oOo~

At breakfast on the very first day of classes, Harry received a letter from Tony Stark, via the school's 'muggle re-rout' address, which was there to be given to non-magical friends – as only witches, wizards and any non-magical family were permitted to know the truth of magic, and no, that did not extend beyond immediate family, as in, members of the same households.

“What's that?” Hermione asked, craning her neck to read over his shoulder.

Harry immediately reacted by removing it from her sight. “Mail,” he answered, giving her an incredulous look. “Private correspondence. Not a textbook to be shared around.”

Hermione blushed and ducked back. “Sorry,” she said. “It's just... you spent a good portion of the beginning of last year telling your fans to stop writing to you, and when they did you only got Gringotts mail after that... But you looked happy to get this letter,” she explained.

Harry sighed. “I don't mind if you're curious,” he told her, “but I don't read your mail over your shoulder. I would appreciate the same courtesy.”

Hermione nodded quickly. “Of course Harry,” she agreed. “I really am sorry. I just...”

“You have a vice?” Dean suggested with a grin. “Curiosity killed the cat, Hermione.”

“Satisfaction brought it back,” Hermione immediately answered, but then sighed. “Yes,” she agreed. “Just call me Alice,” she said, and rolled her eyes. “And I will look at the world around me and declare 'curiouser and curiouser',” she finished with a smile.

“Why would we call you Alice?” Fred asked as he buttered his toast across the table.

Harry, Hermione and Dean all exchanged glances, the silent exchange concluding that it would be up to Harry to answer.

“It's a literature reference,” he started. “ _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_ , and _Through the Looking Glass_ are classics that just about every kid, er, every muggle kid in the UK gets to read at some point before they're ten,” he explained.

“And if they don't read them, then there are videos,” Dean added.

All four of the boys who had grown up in magical households frowned in confusion.

“What's 'videos'?” Lee asked.

Dean stared at Lee for a few seconds before he abruptly dropped his head to the table-top and started gently banging his head against the wood.

Hermione put a hand on his shoulder and dragged him upright again, forcing him to stop. “That won't do any good,” she reminded him pertly. “I'll write to my parents and see if they'd be agreeable to having you all over for Christmas hols. You can all get a crash-course in how the other eighty- to ninety-percent of the world's population lives without magic, and I'll show you all what videos are.”

“I'll skip the globe-trotting this Christmas then,” Harry said with a smile. “If you get permission from your parents, of course.”

Hermione perked up happily.

“And you three can come stay with me for a week or two over the summer break,” Lee countered with a grin. “Learn what it's like to live in a magical household. A normal one,” he added with a joking but pointed look at the twins. “Not one that looks like it should be falling over like these berks live in. Not meaning you, Neville, of course.”

Neville just shrugged. “Gran isn't really the sort for visitors unless it's formal dining. None taken,” he answered.

“August after the letters come?” Harry suggested absently as he opened his letter at last – content that there would be no reading over his shoulder this time – and started to scan the printed pages with their tidy little black letters and interesting diagrams and equations spread through. Those would take a second (and possibly third), more in-depth reading than he was giving the letter at that moment. “We could meet up in the alley, do the school shopping, and then all just follow you home.”

Lee nodded. “Sounds good,” he agreed.

What it sounded like was planning well in advance of the holidays. It was their first day back and they were already looking forward to the holidays!


	6. Chapter 6

The Gryffindors were paired up with the Slytherins for their flying lesson, and there was a fairly even spread of students who'd brought their own brooms and students who would be learning on the school-provided ones. Of his friends, Harry was the only one who had opted to learn on his own broomstick, rather than a school-provided one. Hermione, Dean, and Neville were all standing beside rickety-looking old things that Harry nearly winced to look at. The shafts were knobbly and he didn't care what the man in the shop had said, cushioning charms or not, those had to be uncomfortable.

The lesson went well, no one fell off (though Neville looked terrified that he would the whole time), and Madame Hooch declared that any students interested in recreational flying could either seek out their house's quidditch captain, or otherwise just be careful that none of the quidditch teams were practising if they wanted to do laps around the quidditch pitch.

“Think you'll try out for the team?” Dean asked Harry as they all headed back inside.

Harry shrugged, not sure how to answer.

“You did buy your own broom,” Neville joined in with a smile, the only second-year in their group of friends that had actually grown up with the sport.

“He has homework to do,” Hermione pointed out. “And he could fall to his death!”

Harry rolled his eyes and shared a significant look with Neville and Dean. A look that said, very simply, “girls!” He hadn't honestly thought all that much of the sport when he'd watched the inter-house competition the previous school year. Certainly he'd cheered for Gryffindor – and the twins particularly, since they were the beaters for the team – and Lee had been very clever with his commentary, but... no. It wasn't really his thing.

Flying, on the other hand, that was awesome. The broomstick hadn't been as uncomfortable as he'd feared. It had been very comfortable to sit on, in fact, and riding it was like nothing he'd ever done before. The broom had seemed to respond to his thoughts, it had handled so smoothly. Yeah, he could get used to flying.

~oOo~

“Don't look up,” Neville warned Harry in a whisper as he returned to their table in the common room – he'd gone to fetch a book from the library. A task long taken away from Herminone, as she always came back with the biggest books in excess of what was needed. All very interesting, certainly, but not when a professor only wanted three inches worth of parchment.

“Why?” Harry whispered back.

“Firstie with a camera and an eager look on his face,” Neville answered.

Harry's head dropped sharply into the only slightly soft cushioning of his book. There was a distinct _thump_.

“We'll deal with it Harry,” Fred and George offered, and pushed out of their chairs.

“Thanks guys,” Harry answered from where he still had his head in his book.

The conversation that the twins had with the firstie (one Colin Creevey, apparently) was not hushed, and got the message Harry had conveyed to the twins back on the train when he was a firstie finally conveyed to the rest of the house: yes, his name _is_ Harry Potter. No, he _isn't that one_. How could he be, after all, when he clearly doesn't have that scar that the other Harry Potter is so very famous for?

And it was true that he didn't. After the various rituals that the goblins had put him through back before his first year, Harry's infamous scar had finally started to fade, as all scars do, and it being just a hair-thing thing rather than a great big gash, well, once it stopped being red all the time it had faded away to nearly nothingness by Christmas of his first year. Before which time it had been well hidden by his hair.

The firstie lowered his camera, stepped up, and apologised to Harry for the mistake.

“Colin,” Harry said, looking the boy in the eye. “Regardless of whether a person is famous or not, you should always think about if they want their picture taken before you go creeping about with a camera and an itchy finger over the shutter button.”

Colin slumped a little where he stood, and nodded in understanding.

“That said,” Harry continued, “if you're good at photography, then I dare say there's a lot of kids in the castle who would be willing to part with a coin or two for some good shots of the castle, or a quidditch game, to send home.”

“I know I would like a picture of me in front of the castle to send to my parents,” Hermione offered with a smile. “I'd pay... five knuts for a good shot. And maybe another one of me with my friends all together by the lake.”

Colin brightened up. “I could do that!” he instantly agreed.

“If you can get some good shots of the Gryffindor-Slytherin quidditch game in a couple of weeks, I'd buy some,” Oliver Wood joined in from the next table.

Colin nodded eagerly.

“Maybe we could make a calendar with the quidditch team and sell it to raise money so we'll have some new brooms,” Katie Bell – who had been discussing quidditch strategy with Oliver – suggested.

“I'd buy that!”

“Me too!”

“Yeah!”

The agreements rang around the room.

Harry smiled at the star-struck first-year as he stood there holding his camera. “Looks to me like you've got customers,” he told the boy.

Colin nodded enthusiastically, and let himself be dragged into planning the calendar with Oliver and Katie.

~oOo~

Halloween came, and Mrs Norris went the way of certain ancient trees. That is to say, she had been discovered petrified. Not dead as such, but definitely no longer to be counted as being among the living. Mr Filch was really quite distressed by the whole matter. The students, it has to be said, were decidedly not, and he blamed them for the state of his cat because of it.

Hermione was all fired up about investigating the cause by breakfast the next morning, much like she had been curious the previous school year about finding out what Dumbledore had been hiding on the third floor (she never did find out). Unlike that venture in curiosity, however, the boys happily encouraged her researching into the matter. Even Harry.

“Really?” Hermione checked as she looked around at all of them.

They all nodded solemnly.

“Knowing what did that will mean that we'll hopefully be able to avoid or counter it for ourselves,” Neville pointed out. “This is the sort of curiosity that could save lives, rather than endanger them.”

“We'll help,” Fred and George offered.

“I'd have thought the what was obvious,” Harry said. “I'm more concerned with the how, myself.”

“Obvious?” the rest of them chorused, incredulously.

Harry nodded. “Certainly,” he agreed. “What is Slytherin famously associated with?”

“Dark witches and wizards?” Lee offered.

“You-Know-Who and his followers?” Neville joined in.

“Being anti-muggle-born?” Dean hazarded.

“Potions?” Hermione guessed when Harry shook his head at the previous guesses.

“Snakes!” Fred and George cheered together a moment later.

Harry nodded, though he was rolling his eyes at them having taken so long to figure it out. “So, what's sort of magical snake could do this? Because Slytherin wouldn't be interested in a non-magical snake, and non-magical snakes don't petrify their prey without leaving a mark anyway.”

Around the table was a collective moment of “Erm...”

Harry groaned in lament. “Really!” he grumbled. “I know there are Greek myths about the Medusa that turned to stone anybody that looked upon her face, but she only had snakes for hair, wasn't actually a snake. And there was a serpent hatched from the egg of a cockerel that could kill you by looking at you, but I don't remember if it was a cockatrice or a basilisk. The two seemed fairly interchangeable in the myths I read in primary.”

“A basilisk!” the twins breathed, eyes wide.

“That would do it,” Lee agreed.

“But it kills with eye-contact,” Neville objected through wide-eyed and nearly stammering fear. “It doesn't petrify.”

“If seen directly. If seen indirectly,” Lee countered, “then you get the stone effect Mrs Norris is currently suffering from.”

“Yikes,” Dean said lowly. “So... how do we protect ourselves from something that kills us when we see it? Apart from walking around with blindfolds on like that Ravenclaw first-year over there, I mean.”

“What?” Hermione near yelped.

Dean nodded and pointed to the little blonde girl who was walking around with a blindfold on, somehow managing to not bump into anybody or anything as she went. “I've no idea how she's doing that,” he added. “And as impressive as it is, I'm not really thrilled with the idea of following her example.”

“Blind man's charm,” Lee said. “Magic can do lots of things, but fixing eyes isn't one of them. We can do all sorts of things with glasses, but not eyes. The blind man's charm essentially describes your surroundings to you so you can manoeuvre around any obstacles safely, a little voice whispering in your ear about obstructions and stuff.”

Dean nodded in acceptance of the information, and Hermione added an “Uh-huh,” but that didn't answer the issue of how to be safe in a castle with a basilisk. Without wearing a blindfold as they walked around the castle, at any rate.

“Hang about a mo,” George said as he pulled a book out of the bag he and Fred shared. “We've got Care today, so we've got the book,” he explained as he pulled out a slim volume entitled _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_. “Alright chaps, here we go. 'B'... basilisk!” he declared, and slammed the book down, open, for everybody to lean in and read from their own odd angles.

“A cock's crow?” Harry asked as he reached the end of the passage where it stated that such was fatal to a basilisk. “Seriously?”

“And then there's still finding the thing before it kills you,” Dean added cynically.

“Forge? Gred?” Lee asked.

The twins grinned in answer. “We know just the thing,” they answered together happily.

“It might take us a bit of time,” Fred cautioned.

“But there'll be basilisk parts all ripe for harvest before we break for Christmas,” George promised.

“Which just leaves the mystery of who is controlling the thing,” Hermione declared happily.

“Slytherin's supposed heir,” Dean answered. “It was written in suspicious red all over the wall, remember?”

Hermione waved him off. “Yes, but who is that?” she pressed.

“Didn't the evil tosser, the one with the followers in the dorky masks who all had such fun killing and torturing, claim to be the heir of Slytherin?” Harry asked with deliberate nonchalance as he returned to his breakfast.

Dean swore.

Hermione, for once, didn't reprimand him for it.

But Professor Loki did.

“Mr Thomas, that was both uncouth and uncreative,” Professor Loki informed the boy from behind him. “Messers Weasley, if you do anything in an attempt to 'deal with' the situation of a basilisk in the castle, then I will be forced to borrow epithets from Professor Snape. I would not enjoy that.”

“Will you be doing something then, Professor Loki?” Harry questioned. Any other adult, he wouldn't have asked. Any other adult, he'd have just assumed they'd do bugger-all. He actually respected and trusted Professor Loki though, so he actually did check that detail.

Loki inclined his head. “Certainly,” he agreed regally. “Oh, and one more thing,” he added over his shoulder, as he turned to continue on his way out of the hall. “Ten points to Gryffindor each for the use of sound logic in deductive reasoning. Such qualities are far too rare, and not given enough praise or recognition.”

~oOo~

There were no further incidences of petrification, nor any more extreme cases (such as death) after that. That didn't stop there from being a Duelling Club instigated, so that the students might have some idea of how to defend themselves against an unknown threat – as no one else had figured out that the castle had a basilisk problem, and none of them (nor Professor Loki) had shared it around, it hadn't made it through the rumour mill either.

Curious, Harry and his friends all agreed to check it out. If it was good, they'd learn something potentially useful. If it wasn't, well, it might be a laugh.

When Harry spotted Professor Loki propping up a wall, he had high hopes, and by dint of having a destination as he made his way through the crowd, his friends all followed him until he reached the Runes Professor's side.

“Are you helping with instructing the Duelling Club, Professor?” Harry asked.

Loki smiled down at the boy, amusement practically radiating from him. “No,” he answered. “I've come along to laugh. Though I may yet be called upon.”

“Who is leading the Duelling Club, Professor?” Hermione asked hopefully.

“Can everybody see me?” called out a voice from the duelling platform that had been set up for the club, interrupting Loki before he could even open his mouth to answer. “Can everybody hear me?”

Hermione perked up and whipped around, eager for whatever the teacher would have to say.

The boys all groaned silently. Lockhart. Seriously? Lockhart was leading the Duelling Club? It made no sense! Professor Flitwick was a known champion of the professional duelling circuit, so why wasn't _he_ the one in charge? Why was that- that- that _fop_ up there?!

And then he called Snape up to assist him.

Actually, that wasn't so bad. The boys all exchanged smirks and gave the potions master (known to want the DADA position) their full attention. He may yet utterly humiliate the useless dandy. That, they could at least enjoy. Snape may yet teach them something, even if they all knew that Lockhart wouldn't.

“Ten knuts says Snape sends Lockhart arse-over-tea-kettle,” Harry offered.

“No bet,” Lee and the twins answered easily, all three of them smirking.

It wasn't long before Lockhart was, literally, sent arse-over-tea-kettle by Snape's spell – _expelliarmus_ , as it just so happened.

“Tut,” Loki said from behind the boys. “He messed it up.”

“How's that, Professor?” Harry asked.

“Looked like it worked to us,” the twins added.

Loki chuckled. “Because Professor Snape had too much hiss in the first syllable, and his gesture was too long in the up-down swing, it sent his opponent flying backwards, but still holding his wand. It should have sent Professor Lockhart's wand flying from his hand – and into Professor Snape's – with no physical effect on Professor Lockhart at all,” Loki explained with a smile. “Of course, he should know that,” Loki continued thoughtfully, “so it's entirely possible he did it on purpose.”

“Never thought I'd say it,” George announced softly, “but I think we need to send flowers and a thank-you note to Snape for this.”

His twin nodded in solemn, shocked, agreement.

Lockhart climbed to his feet once more and started babbling pointlessly, which Snape countered with cool words, and then looked out at the students for someone to call up to have a try themselves. After they'd only demonstrated how to salute, bow, and walk away from each other, oh, and one spell.

“Mr Potter? How about you?” Lockhart called when he spotted the boy. “And perhaps against... Mr Longbottom?”

“If Mr Longbottom has the same talent at spell casting as he does with potions, then there would be nothing left of Mr Potter,” Snape countered firmly. “Perhaps someone from my own house?” he suggested, almost politely. Almost.

Of course, Lockhart was an idiot, so he didn't really notice and deferred to his fellow teacher – who silently ordered Malfoy up onto the stage.

“Cancel the flowers,” Harry said flatly.

“Mr Potter?” Lockhart repeated with that stupid grin on his face.

“I don't recall agreeing to get up there,” Harry answered flatly, only to get 'a few friendly shoves' from his friends until he was essentially forced up by them. Once the formalities were through, Harry repeated the spell Snape had used, complete with the imperfections that Professor Loki had made note of. Malfoy was sent arse-over-tea-kettle just as Lockhart had been.

Rather than repeating the disarming spell again once he regained his feet, Malfoy responded instead by shouting out “ _Serpensortia_!”

The spell conjured a small king cobra, which landed quite some distance from Harry. It was, frankly, more of a danger to the students gathered close to the stage at that point than it was to Harry. He lowered his wand.

For some reason, Malfoy looked smug about that. That would need to be corrected.

“Don't worry Potter, I'll get rid of it,” Snape said and stepped around Malfoy.

“Allow me, Professor Snape!” Lockhart said with a grin, and likewise moved to step around Harry.

Harry stuck out his elbow to catch the fop in the gut, and stepped up himself.

“It's just a snake,” he said with a shrug, and gently collected the venomous reptile, and even draped it around his shoulders. “Nothing to be scared of if you don't piss them off,” he explained, and then raised his wand at Malfoy again. “ _Furnunculus_ ,” he cast at the other boy with one hand, while he gently stroked the snake with the other hand.

With that, Harry climbed down from the stage – and with a king cobra resting on his shoulders, no one was going to try and stop him for fear of pissing off the snake. He walked straight back to his friends and Professor Loki.

“Mate, seriously?” Dean asked.

“It isn't even fully grown yet,” Harry said. “Don't worry about it. I'll find a basket for it to sleep in or something. I'll take it back to its native country next holidays.”

“Does it have to stay in our dorms until then though?” Dean pressed.

“I solemnly swear,” Harry said, and raised his hand, “you will not wake up to find this snake in your bed.”

Loki smiled at the boy and took to gently stroking the reptile as well.


	7. Chapter 7

The second-last day of term before the summer holidays (Christmas at the Grangers had been both fun and educational for all involved, and Tony had mailed him some Ironman merchandise as a Christmas present. Harry had sent him a subscription to a British science magazine), there was a new message splashed in red across the walls, just below the previous message. It said:

“Her Corpse Shall Rot In The Chamber Forever!”

A quick head-count revealed that the school was missing a red-head. The youngest Weasely girl seemed to be the victim of this unfortunate mess.

Lockhart, thanks to his bragging, was ordered to find her and fetch her back. Ordered. At wand-point. The cowardly fraud pulled a vanishing act.

Loki found the girl though, somehow that he wasn't telling, and somewhere that he wasn't telling, but he was filthy when he was spotted walking the halls solemnly, with the red-haired girl dead in his arms... and a tattered, half-burned book resting on her stomach.

“I'm sorry I wasn't there soon enough,” he told the Weasely family softly as he passed the girl's corpse over to her father. “But at least you will be able to bury her yourselves, rather than...” he tactfully left off actually speaking the alternative.

Arthur Weasely nodded. “Thank you,” he answered, tears in his eyes.

~oOo~

Tony had invited Harry to visit him during his summer break. Harry, however, had maintained his tradition of opening the atlas to a random page and throwing a dart to choose his destination. He wrote back to Tony to apologise that he wouldn't be able to visit him this summer, since his plans would be taking him to Guatemala instead.

Well, as soon as he'd dropped off the snake in India and apart from meeting up with his friends at the beginning of August and spending the month from that time until September with all of them at Lee's home.

Tony's answering letter was petulant and brief, which made Harry chuckle in amusement. The man was so much of a child in an adult's body, genius brain all aside.

Harry bought a cart and a llama to travel through Guatemala. He still wasn't old enough to drive, after all, and llamas and alpacas were the traditional beasts of burden in the mountainous southern Americas, well, apart from goats, but he wasn't keen on goats.

Harry was headed for a waterfall he'd heard about that was supposed to be a pleasant spot when a bedraggled, half-dressed man stumbled onto the road, actually holding up his trousers. He pulled on the reigns and shushed the llama to a halt.

“Bad day?” Harry asked.

The man blinked. “You speak English,” he noted with surprise. “Where am I?”

“Guatemala,” Harry answered, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead as he blinked a couple of times in surprise himself. “Do I dare ask how you don't even know what country you're in?”

“I was in Brazil, the last I remember,” the man answered sheepishly.

“Last you remember, huh?” Harry said softly.

The man nodded, embarrassment written all over his face. As well as his disinclination to discuss what had happened to have him crossing at least six national borders without his knowledge.

“Well, the road is probably starting to dig into your feet, so climb on up here,” Harry offered, “and I'll dig around in my trunk to see if I have anything that might fit you.”

“Uh...”

Harry chuckled. “After the last time I went on holiday and found someone that needed rescuing, I decided it might be prudent to carry some adult-sized things,” he explained.

“Who did you save last time?” the man asked.

“A man by the name of Tony Stark,” Harry answered easily as he flipped the lid of his trunk and started looking for something that should fit his new friend. “Oh, I'm Harry by the way. Harry Potter, and you are?”

“Bruce Banner,” the man answered. “Tony Stark?”

Harry chuckled. “Found him in the middle of the desert in Afghanistan. Ahah!” he exclaimed and pulled out of the trunk. “This should do for now!” he declared happily as he pulled out a German army great coat he'd found second-hand. “I bought this with a mind to Scottish winters,” he said as he passed it over. “But it should do you for now until I can have a better look through.”

“Thank you,” Bruce said, and pulled it on. “You must swim in this when you try to wear it,” he observed. It was large on his frame, and Harry wasn't as tall or long-limbed as Bruce was, being only approaching thirteen.

Harry shrugged. “Well, I'll grow into it one of these days,” he answered easily. “But I was just headed for a waterfall that's supposed to be around here. I've got a picnic lunch and everything.”

“It's just a little off the road over there,” Bruce offered, pointing back the way he'd come. “That's where I woke up.”

Harry grinned. “Bril,” he decided. “Then you can share my lunch, and after that I'll have a proper look through my trunk for clothes that will fit you, then I'll take you wherever you want to go.”

“I couldn't -” Bruce protested.

“Pfft,” Harry scoffed lightly, waving the man off. “It's not like Guatemala is all that big, and I hardly have an itinerary. Lemme help.”

Bruce's shoulders slumped, and after a moment of staring hard at the ground, he nodded. It was a reluctant nod, but it was an acceptance of offered assistance all the same.

Less than half an hour later, Harry had his picnic blanket spread out on a large, damp rock, and the food spread out on the blanket. He also had transferred Sif from the back of the cart where Bruce hadn't seen her to a branch near the picnic blanket.

“Bruce Banner, this is beauty is Sif. Don't try to pet her though, she's kind of picky about her company,” Harry warned as he conducted the introductions before he removed Sif's hood and let her go to just fly for a while.

Bruce chuckled slightly as he watched the bird go.

“So, what do you do with yourself Bruce?” Harry asked as he picked things for his plate. “When you're not suddenly stranded several countries from your previous location.”

“Uh...” Bruce looked a little nervous and confused.

“Your passion, your vocation,” Harry explained. “I have to get ideas for what to do with my life after school from somewhere,” he added with a boyish grin.

“I... I'm a doctor,” Bruce answered. “I studied a lot of other things as well, gamma radiation, chemistry, but I was an MD first.”

Harry grinned. “Cool,” he said with a nod, and then tilted his head to the side as a thought struck him. “Are you the same Bruce Banner who wrote on anti-electron collisions?”

Bruce's mouth fell open. Since he'd been getting ready to take a bite of the sandwich he'd piled up, that could be excused, but there was once again surprise written all over his face. “Yeah... How- how did you know about that?”

Harry chuckled. “Tony Stark sometimes sends me things he thinks are interesting, since he's determined to stay in touch with the, and I quote, 'kid who saved his bacon from being completely fried out there',” Harry explained with a smile. “He raved about your work for a full five pages, and considering his attention span on most subjects only lasts for a couple of paragraphs before he's jumping onto something else, that's saying something.”

Bruce blinked as he sat back and considered that. “Wow,” he said softly. “Tony Stark huh? Wow.”

Harry chuckled, and bit into his sandwich. “Where to from here, Dr Banner?” Harry asked with a smile, after he'd swallowed of course. “There's a town just a little further that way,” he added, pointing with the hand not holding his sandwich down the road in the direction he'd been travelling from. “If that suits you.”

“I just... I want to go home,” the man said tiredly, head hanging now and hands limp.

“America somewhere, or back to Brazil? The people who tossed you out probably won't look for you back there too quickly, but you might want to change neighbourhoods,” Harry advised with a slight smile.

“America,” Bruce said. “There are libraries that I need to get to.”

“From Brazil, to dumped in Guatemala by unknowns, to American libraries,” Harry mused. “Dr Banner, do you have some incredible tale of woe, mystery, and danger?” he asked, only half-joking.

Bruce looked up briefly, only to hang his head even lower than before.

“Hit it on the head, did I?” Harry asked softly, surprise and sympathy both in his tone.

Bruce nodded unhappily. “I... an experiment went wrong, and now... I've been trying to find a cure since, and not been having much luck, and suddenly being in Guatemala means that I've lost all my data as well,” he explained vaguely, an air of despondency hanging all around him.

“How bad is it?” Harry asked curiously. “Because, Tony's story has him living only thanks to a glowing battery in his chest now.”

Bruce shook his head. “He can control that,” he countered. “I... my situation is a bit more Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, except I only had to take the 'potion' once, and now it causes me to change whenever my heart-rate gets too elevated. The experiment went really wrong,” he reiterated. “I don't even know why I'm telling you this.”

Harry grinned. He did seem to have that kind of effect on people. “Are you still... you, when you turn into your Mr Hyde?” he asked.

“Uh, sort of,” Bruce answered. “I can sometimes see what's going on, but I'm pretty much pushed aside in favour of this other personality. We can sort of communicate, but...” he shook his head.

“Okay... and is this other guy aware of your life?” Harry asked.

Bruce's head snapped up. Surprise seemed to be the default emotion for this conversation for him, since he was wearing that same stunned expression again.

“Well, you're aware when he's in charge, a bit, why wouldn't he have some idea of what you're doing? Maybe if you tried to communicate with him, it wouldn't be so bad,” Harry suggested. “Not that I'd know anything, I'm just tossing out random suggestions really.”

Bruce chuckled weakly. “It's not without merit,” he admitted, “and an approach I hadn't tried yet. I've been so focused on trying to find a cure, to get rid of the other guy... I hadn't thought about just making living with him easier.”

The rest of their picnic lunch passed in a sort of silence that was companionable and saturated with deep thought, until Harry packed up the food, the blanket and called Sif back. Harry pulled out clothes that looked like they'd fit for Bruce to choose from while the bird got in a few last aerobatics, and then she was hooded again and carried over to her perch on the cart when she came down. Once Bruce was dressed again and up on the cart beside him, Harry urged the llama on to the next town.

“I'm going to find a phone and call Tony,” Harry said as they entered the town. “I know he'd be thrilled to meet you, and probably be fascinated with whatever the effects of your experimentation are too.”

“I don't want to attract attention,” Bruce protested softly. “Really, your giving me a lift this far is enough. I'll get where I'm headed eventually. And I refuse to accept any more charity than the clothes, which I'm very grateful for, by the way.”

Harry sighed. “Alright,” he allowed. “It's a bit of a bummer though. I got to spend three days with Tony in the desert, getting to know him, and I don't even get your company for a full day.”

Bruce chuckled weakly. “Yeah, trust me, you're safer that way.”

“Well, at least let me give you the mailing address for my boarding school,” Harry insisted, and pulled some paper out of his pocket, as well as a pen. “I want you to keep me updated on how you're doing. You're a nice guy, Dr Banner. I hope good things find you.”

Bruce smiled a little. “I hope so too,” he said softly, and accepted the paper with the address. “Thank you. I'll do my best to keep in touch,” he promised.

Harry nodded, and then Bruce turned and left. Harry sighed. “Well, on with the holiday,” he decided, and started looking around the town.

“Mr Potter,” a familiar voice greeted him as Harry was bent over a spread of 'local delicacies' some hours later, studying them with the intent to see if he could persuade himself that they looked appetising enough to try eating.

He jerked up. “Professor Loki, hello,” Harry answered with a smile. “I was just considering dinner,” he said with a gesture at the 'food' spread out before him.

Loki chuckled. “You are very brave then,” he said, amused.

Harry shrugged. “Try anything once,” he answered. “It can only make me sick,” he decided, and paid for a small serving. “I've elected to take your class this year Sir,” he added.

Loki smiled. “I'd noticed,” he answered. “I really am very pleased about that. May I enquire as to which other electives you will be taking this year?”

“I'm also going to take Care of Magical Creatures,” Harry replied, “but apart from those two, and the regular subjects, I'm going to really dive into the non-magical school curriculum this year, and make sure I'll be able to go to a regular university if I want to.”

Loki nodded. “Truly commendable,” he agreed, approval in his tone.

~oOo~

Spending August at Lee's house was fun and educational, just as spending Christmas with Hermione's parents had been, but in an entirely different way. There was still the ground rule that there would be no laughing at what was perceived to be a stupid question, since if it was being asked, then it was being asked seriously, and should receive a likewise serious response.

(Then again, the Twins still weren't all that inclined towards laughter. The death of the youngest Weasely child was still a very raw subject with all of the family. The pranksters had become serious, and they reported that Percy was less focused on his studies and more on his family now, and Ron was more focused on his studies, and less inclined to let the bare minimum be good enough.)

Hermione was a bit disturbed to learn about House Elves, initially, but a lot of questions sorted the whole matter out. (Symbiotic relationship, not slavery, and yes there were some people who treated their elves poorly, but they were a minority and elves were perfectly capable of getting themselves out of a bad situation if they really felt they needed to.)

There was also the news that someone called Sirius Black had escaped from a place called Azkaban back at the beginning of the summer holidays, and that started up a whole other discussion about the legal system of the magical world.

It started this way:

“So, what did he do?” Harry asked.

“He was a supporter of You-Know-Who,” Mrs Jordan answered. “His second in command, practically.”

“How'd the aurors catch him?” Hermione asked, wide-eyed.

“Oh, he'd been chased down by a chap called Peter Pettigrew,” Mr Jordan answered. “They were friends at school or something. A bit after our time,” he added by reason for his less than perfectly accurate knowledge of the details of the matter. “Apparently he...” Mr Jordan hesitated.

“He betrayed the Potters to the dark wanker,” Lee finished softly.

Harry blinked in surprise. Then he asked if it would be possible for him to see a transcript of Sirius Black's trial.

“Why d'you want to do that for?” Dean nearly yelped in shock.

Harry shrugged. “It would have all the details,” he said. “Whoever was prosecuting, and for that matter, whoever was defending, would have asked him a whole lot of questions. If this Sirius Black person gave up my parents to the dark tosser, I want to know why.”

“Harry... you're not... not thinking of hunting him down or anything, are you?” Mrs Jordan asked, worry all over her face as she asked.

Harry shook his head. “No Ma'am,” he answered. “I just... want to be informed, and I figure that reading a trial transcript would have a lot of information in it.”

From there, the discussion of the magical justice system followed, and Mrs Jordan – who actually worked in the records department of the Ministry – promised to have a look the next day when she went in to work.

The next evening she returned from her day at the office with the shakes. When she'd gone looking, she hadn't been able to find a trial transcript. In fact, the only bits of paperwork pertaining to Sirius Black that she could find was Arcturus Black filing to make him official heir to the headship of the Black family (twice, both before and after he'd been incarcerated), Sirius Black's employment history as an auror for the Ministry during the war, and a short note that was signed and countersigned by Bagnold and Crouch (neither of whom still held the same positions in the Ministry as they had) that stated Sirius Black was to be shipped to Azkaban immediately.

He was never tried, never convicted, never even questioned.

“When I found that, I went to Amelia Bones,” Mrs Jordan explained to the teenagers. “She's head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The expression on her face... Well, the news in the Prophet tomorrow will certainly be interesting,” she said.

It was too.

And the Prophet the day after that was full of public outrage. There were two sides of that outrage: that the heir to an Ancient and Noble House could have been shipped off to Azkaban without a trial on one side, and that the second-in-command to You-Know-Who could be shipped off without being interrogated for more information on the other.

Either way, there were calls for Sirius Black to present himself and be properly tried, and for the Ministry to give that trial (or interrogation). Once the Ministry agreed publicly to give the man a trial if he presented himself, the man promptly did. Which caused more uproar – very confused uproar.

All because Harry asked for details on the matter, and managed (by pure luck) to ask the right person.


	8. Chapter 8

Sirius Black's case was still dragging out when September rolled around and the population of Hogwarts were being introduced to that year's new Defence teacher – one Remus Lupin. Harry didn't pay much attention to that announcement though, in all honesty, beyond the perfunctory applause to welcome the latest victim to the post. He was much too preoccupied with thoughts of his science text books. He'd been having to learn the really advanced science and engineering stuff since the day he'd met Tony, so going back to the standard curriculum for people his age was... odd.

Add in the new bio-chem and medical stuff that Bruce wrote to him about, and Harry really was having a very skewed education. Not just because he was learning magic when a greater percent of the population were learning algebra and how to write a book report either.

Harry's first Ancient Runes class was first thing in the morning on the first day back at classes, and he was thrilled to finally be learning the subject that Professor Loki taught. The man had been a God-send that first day he'd stepped foot into the magical world, and something of a role model in the time since then, even if they hadn't actually interacted much.

“There will be no playing with your wands in my class room,” Loki informed the students as he seemed to materialise from a shadowy corner of the room. He was better at the dramatics than even Professor Snape. “However, before you begin to despair that this will be a theory-heavy course, I will correct you,” he continued, and slipped a pair of glasses onto his face.

Glasses that Harry recognised as the ones Professor Loki had collected from the magical optometrist the day they'd met. He'd never asked what it was they were enchanted for, and now he was intensely curious.

“My inclination is to teach in whatever manner will help you best to learn. For some of you, I suppose that would be to study the text intensely,” Professor Loki said, and arched an eyebrow high as he peered down through his glasses at Hermione.

Hermione who smiled, blushed a little, and ducked her head down between her shoulders.

“For others, you will learn better if you are doing something. And some may well learn best through a combination of both,” he continued, his gaze sweeping across the other students in the room. “That said, the use of runes in magic does not require a wand to be practically applied. For example,” Loki continued, and unrolled a small ream of very thin paper that was covered in graphite. “This is a rubbing of a 'page' from the Egyptian antiquity known as The Book of the Dead. If I were to read from this page, nothing would happen. If I were to read the same passage directly from The Book, then I would have raised a soul from the underworld as the Egyptians understood it. The magic in this instance being tied to the object through the hieroglyphs, which are just the 'runes' of another language,” Loki explained. “These are set in place with a magical tool, like a knife.”

He nodded at them all when he saw that they at least marginally understood – he was pleased to note though Harry's eyes were brightest with the light of understanding and epiphany, and one hand fiddled lightly with where Loki was certain the boy kept his dagger-like wand – and then moved to his desk.

“For today, I want you all to simply read the introduction of your assigned text books, and when I call your names, you will approach my desk to receive your project for this year. Yes, year. I will assign you each a project that you may work through as quickly or slowly as your understanding of the subject, and your own motivation, permits. You will work on these projects only during class time, so that you may ask me for help, or an explanation, in the event you need it. When any one of you has a question, I will address the answer to the whole class, so that you may all benefit, and I will hopefully not need to repeat myself too often. Homework will be to study the text so that you will, hopefully, need to ask me fewer questions during class time.”

~oOo~

“Professor Lupin?” Harry asked, his hand raised as all around him his peers were thinking of ways to make their greatest fear funny. No easy task, especially with the knowledge that they would all shortly be confronting those very fears, in that very room.

“Yes Mr Potter?” Professor Lupin answered.

“What if you don't know what your greatest fear is? Or what if it's an event, sound, or action rather than a thing?” Harry asked. “Like... thunder, or a fear of public speaking?”

Professor Lupin grinned. “An excellent question!” he praised. “And if such is true, then it means you have a slight advantage over a boggart. A boggart can only transform into a physical manifestation of your fear. As such, it would find a lesser fear of yours to transform into, and as it is not your greatest fear, then the spell to counter the boggart should not be as difficult,” he explained happily.

Harry nodded in acceptance. “And, uh, what if the thing feared were, uh, bigger than the space available to the boggart?” Harry asked with a gesture around the room. “Someone who's afraid of dragons, for example, could see us all crushed in here, just because they're so big.”

“Another excellent point,” Professor Lupin agreed. “A boggart is restricted by the size of the space it is transforming in. If you meet a boggart out-of-doors, it has more room to become a large fear. Because the staff room is not particularly spacious, the boggart will be somewhat limited, just as we have a defence against it by coming in strong numbers.”

Harry thanked the professor, and returned to trying to think of what he feared most, and of all the things he had ever feared. He was a very in-the-now sort of person though, and didn't carry fear with him if he could help it. Certainly in situations where fear was a sensible reaction, he was afraid, but when the moment passed and he was safe again, he put the fear out of his mind. Harry wondered, as he slowly shuffled forward in the line to face the boggart, which circumstance the boggart would draw from him.

He never got to find out, as class time ran out before he (and about five others, he wasn't the only one) could have a turn facing the boggart.

~oOo~

Sirius Black wrote to Harry, when his trial was over and his name had been cleared, and asked if he would care to spend the Christmas holiday with him, since he was the boy's godfather. They had a lot of catching up to do.

Harry took up dart and atlas, and his destination for that holiday was determined to be Australia. A summer Christmas. The warmth would probably do the man good after a little over a decade in prison. He responded with the positive, while simultaneously outlining his plans to not be in the country for that holiday.

They exchanged letters until the holiday in question, and expressed to each other some disgruntlement with Professor Remus Lupin once Sirius had revealed that the man had been part of a group of friends with himself and Harry's father. On the other hand, a teacher approaching a student about his dead parents... Harry could understand how it would be awkward and difficult for the man. It didn't make him feel better about the matter, but he understood.

~oOo~

Harry had enjoyed Christmas with Sirius, but had also determined that over-exposure to the man wasn't something he enjoyed, and when the summer holidays rolled around and Sirius invited Harry to move in with him, Harry responded that he quite liked his situation and would be travelling to Budapest and touring Russia that summer.

Sirius was disappointed, but understanding. Harry had become a reasonably independent, self-sufficient young man without the need for any adult supervision.

Budapest turned out to be... exciting. Lots of violence in the streets, and a couple of people who seemed to be taking on everybody else. One of them with a bow and a quiver of arrows, which Harry thought was pretty damn cool. Any idiot could point a gun and pull the trigger, after all. Archery was something that took _skill_.

“Fancy seeing you here, Mr Potter,” a familiar voice greeted.

“Hello Professor Loki,” Harry answered with a smile and without turning around. “What brings you to Budapest, if I may ask?”  
“You may ask,” Loki answered with a cheeky grin that said quite plainly that Harry wouldn't get a straight answer from him on the subject. “Though, I find that right now I wish to know more of those two,” he said, and gestured to the pair who were essentially surrounded and still somehow winning.

Harry nodded in agreement. “I would to,” he admitted. “I think I'll try and catch up with them when the fighting bit is over.”

Loki's expression morphed through surprise and curiosity before it settled on fondness. Not that Harry saw his favourite teacher directing that soft look at him.

Harry's eyes narrowed as he spotted someone sneaking up on the pair, only for them to widen and blink in shock when Sif (who had been sitting watching the battle from Harry's shoulder, her hood off) took off and flew straight at the face of the person who had been attempting a sneak attack.

“Just like Sif,” Loki said softly, his own eyebrows raised as the goshawk's claws raked down over the offending man's eyes and her sharp beak pecked a couple of times at his scalp before she swooped up again and returned to where Harry stood, watching from the balcony of the room he was renting.

Harry chuckled softly, even as those bloody claws dug gently into his shoulder, and fondly stroked Sif's breast feathers. She had never done anything like that before, come to the defence of another, so he knew that his professor was referring to the Sif that the bird had been named for. Certainly she had flexed her claws threateningly when someone looked to be trying to cheat Harry, and yes, she'd clawed and pecked people who hadn't headed Harry's warning to leave her be and respect her personal space, but actively coming to the defence of a total stranger? That was not her usual behaviour.

“Do you like him?” Harry asked softly.

Sif turned her beak up at the insinuation and delicately shook her feathers. As if she was saying “Me? Like someone? Don't be ridiculous!”

Harry just chuckled again, and turned at last to Professor Loki, where the man was standing on the balcony of the next room over. “Will class next year be like class this year?” he enquired politely.

Loki nodded. “It will, Mr Potter. And may I congratulate you once more on your very well crafted amulet? The carving you were able to accomplish with your dagger is the finest I have seen since I began to teach at Hogwarts.”

Harry beamed. “Thank you Sir!” Harry answered happily. “I'm actually wearing it right now, and I made one for Sif as well.”

Loki nodded. “An amulet of protection is a useful thing to be wearing if you have one,” he agreed, “and yours was most comprehensive. But tell me, does Sif's amulet also protect her against mind control, as yours does?” Loki asked with a slight smirk.

Harry grinned. “It does,” he answered. “You can never be too careful. Though I suppose some people would say I'm being paranoid.”

Loki nodded. “Some would,” he acknowledged. “But then, you actually have a madman, however incorporeal he may now be, interested in making sure your death comes sooner, rather than later.”

Harry nodded in solemn agreement, and turned back to the battle that was going on in the street below. Or rather, that was finally winding down in the street below.

“I'm going to go down now and see if I can meet them,” Harry decided.

Loki chuckled. “Be careful,” he cautioned. “They may decide to shoot at you if you go down there.”

“But I've got my very excellent amulet of protection!” Harry objected with a confident grin before he turned and headed back into his room, then out and down to the street.

~oOo~

The bullet and arrow both hit his protective amulet where it hung from around his neck and over his chest. The arrow lodged in the hole which had been for the loop that held the amulet around his neck, while the bullet had struck the middle of the stone and broken it in two.

“Damn,” Harry said, and blinked down at the little stone that he'd carefully smoothed, polished, and carved runes into. “Being broken in half just completely ruins the rune structure,” he grumbled with a slightly shocked expression on his face. Still, he was pleased as well. He wasn't hurt at all, so his amulet had done its job. It just hadn't survived the encounter with serious weapons at close range.

“Rune structure what?” the guy (who'd shot the arrow) asked, another arrow at the string of his bow and ready to be fired if Harry turned out to be a threat.

Harry shook his head. “You broke my protective amulet,” he said.

The woman frowned. “People still sell those?” she asked, a little increadulous.

“And you wasted money on one?” the guy added with a smirk.

“Hey!” Harry objected. “It worked, didn't it?” he pointed out. “I just had a bullet and an arrow flying at me, and I'm completely unharmed!”

The guy chuckled and shook his head, glancing at the red-headed woman at his side, who shrugged in answer.

“He's got a point,” she allowed.

The man continued to chuckle. “Yeah, sure,” he allowed, and then he noticed Sif – and the blood on her claws. “Hey, your bird...”

Harry smiled. “Her name's Sif,” Harry presented proudly. “And I'm Harry by the way. Harry Potter.”

The red-head blinked and her eyebrows raised slightly. “The kid who saved Tony Stark,” she noted.

Harry nodded, blushing a little. “He likes to talk about me?” he guessed.

The two adults rolled their eyes. Or, rather, the guy rolled his eyes and the woman apparently deemed him a non-threat and was instead looking around the now-decimated neighbourhood in case of other, more viable threats.

“He only mentioned you in the press conference where he announced that he was changing his company's direction, and has been rumoured to actually use the old-fashioned paper-and-stamp mail system for the kid who saved his life,” the woman answered absently.

“And now your bird saved mine,” the guy said, coming back to his point. “That _is_ the blood of the bastard that was sneaking up on us on her claws, isn't it?” he asked pointedly, and nodded to where Sif was digging her still-bloody claws lightly into Harry's shoulder.

“It is,” Harry agreed. “She's never done that before,” he added. “Normally, she only claws and pecks at people she doesn't like who get into her personal space. She's never actually gone off and just attacked someone before.” Harry smirked. “I think she likes you, but she's denying it like only a bird can.”

Sif whipped her head around and snapped her beak just shy of Harry's ear, and dug her claws in more sharply. A warning. She loved Harry, but she would not tolerate having her reputation as an utterly merciless bird of prey being tarnished by him.

“Mr Potter, you're a P.O.I. -” the woman started.

“That's Person Of Interest,” the guy interjected.

“To our boss,” the woman finished with a silencing glance at the man beside her.

“Me?” Harry repeated, and pointed to himself. “I'm just a teenager who just so happened to be on holiday in the right place at the right time,” he stated, and then looked the pair up and down. “And I get the feeling that having your boss interested in me isn't an entirely healthy thing,” he added.

The guy smirked. “Nah kid,” he assured. “You're safe -”

“Provided you leave before that bomb goes off,” the woman cut in, her gaze – which hadn't stopped sweeping the area – fixed on a certain point not ten metres from them.

“Fly Sif!” Harry ordered, and gave a quick wave to the pair. “Maybe we'll meet again some time and you can tell me your names?” he suggested.

“Maybe,” the woman agreed, her eyes still fixed on the ticking bomb. There was still time to get clear before it went off.

“Get out of here kid,” the guy said, and pulled out a knife as he moved towards the bomb.

“You got it?” the woman asked as Harry headed for his rented room on the other side of the street.

“Yeah,” the guy answered. “Should do. You better get clear though, just in case.”

“Okay. Don't die.”


	9. Chapter 9

Harry was still in Russia when the Quidditch World Cup fever was taking over the magical populations around the world. It was Bulgaria against Ireland, and being hosted in England. Harry was really just grateful to not be anywhere near that mess. Even with three years of watching quidditch matches at Hogwarts, he still didn't really see the appeal. Apart from flying. He liked flying. But quidditch? Nah, not his thing.

Actually, competition in general wasn't really something he cared for much. Certainly he wanted to do the best he could at whatever he was trying to do, but the whole competition thing... it was divisive, as evidenced by the House rivalries at Hogwarts. It might have been 'friendly competition' once upon a time, but it kind of wasn't any more.

Harry tried to stay out of that, as much as he could, as well.

The headmaster just had to announce a whole new competition at the opening feast though. One that, judging from the general reaction of the student body, was a lot less popular than the old man probably intended it to be. But really, what did he expect? Cancelling the inter-house quidditch tournament the same year as England had hosted the Quidditch World Cup? There were four teams worth of players who wanted to try moves they'd seen at the professional game while it was still fresh in everybody's minds.

Either way it was nothing to do with him. Harry was much more concerned with his Runes projects and the latest mail from Bruce and Tony than he was with the competition. Either of them.

On the other hand, the international guests were fairly interesting – as was the fact that, despite his best intentions of having nothing to do with the competition (he fully intended to opt-out of even watching, taking the time to get in more study), his name had just been spat out of the elaborate coffee mug.

“Mr Potter, if you would please join the other Champions?” Dumbledore requested, after having announced the name that had appeared on the fourth piece of paper to be ejected from the goblet.

Loki, down the table from Dumbledore, made eye-contact with the teenager in question and nodded slightly.

Harry sighed (loudly) and grumbled (audibly) about lost study time and stupid competitions, before he shoved himself out of his seat (blatantly unhappy) and dragged his feet across the room to the door where the three older students had disappeared shortly before.

“Do zey want us now?” asked the French girl.

“I am deeply sorry and can offer only my most sincere apologies,” Harry answered. “Because due to the actions of a complete and total git, I have been entered into this competition completely against my will.”

“What?!” all three of the older students yelped. Viktor and Fleur may not have had the best grasp of the English language, but they understood that this fourteen-year-old kid was entered into the competition that was supposed to be only for of-age participants.

Then the teachers and ministry officials arrived and both confirmed it and objected about it, without any of them once offering a suggestion for a way to get Harry out of the competition. Well, until Processor Loki swept in and cast a blanket silencing spell over the collective jabbering adults.

“Thank you,” Loki said drolly. “Champions, Mr Potter,” he called, and waved them over. “The Tri-Wizard Tournament consists of three tasks. These three tasks will be a series of paper-rock-scissors games.”

Despite being silenced, the two ministry officials clearly gesticulated and changed colours from calm-pasty to irate-puce in objection to the proposal.

Harry and Loki were quietly both surprised to see that Dumbledore didn't like the proposition much more than the other two, and even Moody looked mildly incensed by the idea.

The champions were quick to agree however, and Loki officiated. Fleur won, after much quiet giggling between the four teenagers (not that they'd admit it, but it was fun).

“And so, the magic of the contract is fulfilled,” Loki declared with a smirk. “Of course, Mister Diggory, Mr Krum, and Mademoiselle Delacour will still be pleased to compete in the tasks that have been determined already, I'm sure. But now Mr Potter will not be forced to participate in a tournament he has no desire to be in.”

Harry smiled and nodded. “Thank you Professor,” he said, truly and completely grateful. If they hadn't been in company, he might even have hugged his teacher for getting him so neatly out of that mess.

Loki nodded back and lay an almost paternal hand on the boy's shoulder. “Come along Mr Potter, you have homework,” he said, and steered the boy out of the room and escorted him up to his common room.

~oOo~

There was a ball as part of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, so Harry decided to (for once) stay at Hogwarts for the winter holiday. He didn't ask any of the girls to go with him. He wasn't interested in dating just yet, and certainly he wasn't interested in dancing. He got to laugh at some of his friends when they tried at McGonagall's dancing lessons before the ball.

Really, was it so hard? Hell, he'd gone to those lessons for fun, even if he wasn't interested in having a date for the ball, and he'd not found it too hard.

According to how and where he applied pressure on the body of his dance partner, they would move. He just had to be aware enough to keep his feet out of the way of her feet, whoever his partner was. In the dance lessons, he'd managed to snag Hermione.

At the ball itself? Well, he hadn't gone on a hunt for a date, and had shown up without one. He was quite happy to just prop up a wall and enjoy the atmosphere. The Great Hall really was very nicely done up for the occasion.

“Having fun, Mr Potter?” a familiar voice asked.

“Yes Sir,” Harry answered, and then looked up at the man. Only to blink in utter shock.

Loki smirked back, a smirk full of amusement and mischief. “Sir?” he parroted. “Not tonight, Mr Potter.”

Harry worked his jaw for a moment before finally managing to croak out: “How -?”

Loki chuckled. “I suggest you get in some research on Norse Myths, Mr Potter. Loki, the god of fire, mischief, and various other things, had a fondness for causing harmless chaos. Sometimes, that involved masquerading as a woman. I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to have a bit of that same variety of fun,” Loki explained.

Harry chuckled. “Well, if I may say so Professor, you look good,” he offered.

Loki laughed lowly. He may have been dressed up as a woman, used a hair-lengthening spell and was even showing off some curves that under normal circumstances weren't there, but he hadn't changed his voice at all.

“Will you dance with me, Mr Potter?” Loki asked with a smile.

“Will you lead, or follow?” Harry countered with a one-sided smirk and a raised eyebrow.

“I'm in a dress tonight, Mr Potter. I'll follow your lead,” Loki promised with a humouring grin as he held out his hand delicately.

Harry claimed it and led his favourite professor out onto the dance floor. Oh, he was _so_ going to get it later if anybody else figured out who his dance partner was. But strangely enough, Harry found he didn't care. In fact, he wished Colin were hanging about taking pictures of the ball. He'd quite like one of himself dancing with Professor Loki. Even if only to laugh at any time he was feeling down.

~oOo~

Harry, determined to get his project finished before the end of the school year and with exactly no interest whatsoever in the Triwizard Tournament, was taking refuge in Professor Loki's classroom while the final task was taking place. He'd already re-made his previous year's project, though it had taken a couple of months, and once again wore his amulet at all times. This year's project was meant to be able to render a person completely frozen in time. Without killing them. It would work as a defensive object – if the person is frozen in time, then nothing harmful can touch them – and also as a thing that would allow for people already injured to be transported to a place of healing without any further damage.

The trick was how to activate it and deactivate it. If the person who activated it was the one affected, then someone else would have to deactivate it, because the person frozen in time wouldn't be able to do anything at all, including freeing themselves from the little device that Harry was making. If it could be remotely activated to work on another person, then that would be better.

The thing could also, potentially, be a way to keep criminals from doing anything. An excellent way to keep them contained, but not so much a punishment for any wrong-doings. They wouldn't even be aware of the passage of time to get bored with their inability to do anything, after all. Still, if they were in it for long enough, then coming out after so long might be something of a punishment. Still, better not to leave criminals in that state just for someone else to deal with later.

And that wasn't why Harry wanted to get it done by the end of the school year anyway. He was much more interested in the device's defensive capabilities.

For example, if he could freeze a person in time moments before they were hit by a nasty curse, or a bullet, then it wouldn't hurt them, and he'd then be able to unfreeze them again once the moment of danger was past, and they'd be able to continue on, unharmed.

If he could get it to work, could figure out the on-off problems he was having, then maybe he'd be able to sell it to police, or Aurors, or soldiers going off to war. He would probably send one to Tony, just for the man to try and figure out.

The man wasn't entirely up on the whole 'magic' thing, to him, Harry's proposition of how to get the Elixir of Life from the Philosopher's Stone had been mostly academic. As well as a sly challenge to the man to try and figure out how to make one. Tony had pretty much completely discarded the idea after a couple of months of frustration and exclaiming over the impossibilities, but it had kept him occupied for a while, and his genius brain did love a challenge. He revisited it every other month still, and would likely continue to do so until he figured it out. The man wasn't a quitter, even if 'impossibilities' frustrated him and his focus shifted to other things.

A knock at the door interrupted the quiet that Harry had been enjoying, where the only sound in the classroom had been his own mutterings, and Loki turning the pages of the book he was reading.

“Come,” Loki called.

“Sorry to bother you Professor, but... Oh, Harry! There you are!” Hermione exclaimed.

“What's the matter Hermione?” Harry asked, and set aside his project to give her his full attention. She looked simply distraught.

“There's been a death,” Hermione announced. “Victor...” and she choked, tears welling up in her eyes and a lump lodging in her throat that she couldn't speak past.

She'd been Victor Krum's date for the Yule Ball, and his hostage to be retrieved in the second task. They'd become quite close in such a short space of time.

Harry wordlessly held out his arms for her, and Hermione dived into his chest, where she proceeded to sob for some time as Harry offered what comfort he could.

“Miss Granger,” Loki said when Hermione's sobs started to subside. “Does anybody have any idea what happened?”

“Professor Dumbledore said something about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named returning,” Hermione answered weakly. “The Minister's being rather vocal in his denials of such a possibility, saying that it's just a tragic accident.”

Loki nodded solemnly and passed her a conjured handkerchief to wipe her face with.

~oOo~

Even with that sort of terrible news hanging over everybody at the end of the year, Harry kept up with his tradition of throwing darts at maps to pick where he holidayed. That summer, he made plans to go to New Mexico – and since he was going to be in America, he promised Tony that he'd visit, provided the billionaire had time. It was entirely possible that the infamous Pepper Potts (well, she was infamous in Tony's letters) would have him all tied up with other goings on.

Fourteen-going-on-fifteen wasn't old enough for Harry to rent a car, and the United States of America had very little else available in the way of rent-able transportation. Carts weren't common, camels even less so. Bicycles were fairly plentiful, but as healthy as Harry was, he had no desire to pedal for miles upon miles of near-endless American highway.

Especially not in the New Mexico desert.

Tony, bless his glowing, metal heart, somehow got someone to have a horse waiting for him when he got off the plane and out of customs. There was a note with it, naturally.

“Hope this beast gives you a smoother ride than the stinking camel did. – Tony.”

Harry had chuckled dryly, thanked the woman who'd been waiting with the horse and the sign that had his name written on it, and hung his duffel bag (which had his trunk inside, same as when he'd been in Afghanistan, as he'd kind of been anticipating hitch-hiking, and didn't want to lug a trunk around for that) from the saddle-horn before swinging himself up onto the saddle.

Harry discovered soon enough that riding a horse was actually _less_ comfortable than riding a camel, and this could be put down entirely to how the two different animals were saddled. There were always different saddling options, but the option Harry had chosen for his camel had been a lot more like a seat than a saddle. It was also better padded.

After a few days of riding though, Harry got used to it well enough that he ultimately decided that wouldn't tell Tony that the camel had been a better ride. The genius billionaire probably wouldn't take it too well.

Harry had set up camp in the desert just a short way out of the nearest town, a place called Puente Antiguo that was so small it wasn't even on the map. He'd arrived too late to check in to the local hostel/motel/hotel/bead-and-breakfast, and it wasn't like they would have had anywhere for him to park his horse anyway. He'd been enjoying the view of the stars when, out of nowhere, a massive aurora, something that should _not_ have been happening that far south, lit up the night sky.

Not only that, but barely twenty feet from his camp, a thing that look alarmingly like a twister touched down. Unlike a twister though, it didn't have any sucking force. Actually, it sent out a bit of a shock-wave.

“I am not dying for six college credits!” a female voice yelled out over the howl of the wind and the screech of a vehicle.

Harry had been a bit busy making sure that his horse didn't injure itself in its fear of the goings on (Sif was fine, she was hooded and asleep in his tent), but the yell had caught his attention. So did the brightly coloured flashing lights that came down through the twister, right before it calmed down.

“I think that was legally your fault!” yelled the same female voice from a moment before.

“Get the first-aid kit!” another female voice instructed.

Harry stroked his horse a couple more times, making sure the animal was calmed down, and then headed towards the van. It wasn't hard to spot, being covered as it was in lights.

Harry reached the van just as one guy turned his head up to the sky and started yelling.

“Father! Heimdell! I know you can hear me! Open the Bifrost!”

“Hospital,” said one of the women. Harry recognised it as the second female voice he'd heard. “You go, I'll stay.”

“You there, what realm is this? Alfheim? Nornheim?”

“New Mexico,” answered the owner of the first voice Harry had heard. A rather pretty young woman with lots of curly brown hair who was pointing a taser at the big blonde.

“You think to threaten the me, the mighty Thor with so puny a -”

“Welcome to Midgard,” Harry said with a bright smile, even as the brunette fired her weapon and felled the big man. “Where we don't care how big you are, you're still going down, Prince Thor of Asgard.”

“Who are you, and what the heck are you talking about?” demanded the brunette.

“Well, I'm Harry, and I couldn't help but hear this guy -” he absently kicked the comatose blonde that was no longer being electrocuted, “- yell out to Heimdell about the Bifrost. If you know your mythology, it's not hard to put together,” Harry answered easily – and as per his favourite professor's recommendation at the Yule Ball, Harry now knew his mythology very, very well.

“Right... some kind of frat party went really wrong,” the brunette decided.

“Darcy! The camera! We have to record these markings!” the other woman instructed. “And get him off them,” she added with a gesture to the blonde man.

“Well, my curiosity is sated, and it's late. I'm going to bed,” Harry declared, turned his back on the collective, and returned to his camp. As he headed back though, he saw something else fall out of the sky, a bright trail left behind it before it hit. Harry made a note of the direction and decided to check it out in the morning.


	10. Chapter 10

By the time Harry had eaten a leisurely breakfast, packed up his camp, and gotten his horse over to where whatever-it-was had crashed, a whole lot of locals had already beaten him to it. There were pick-up trucks all around the crater. One guy had set up a barbecue, there was a radio playing, and more folks lounged on deck-chairs watching as their friends all tried their hand at lifting the thing in the middle like they were trying to draw Excalibur.

One old bloke backed up to the crater in his truck, and some younger guys brought out a long chain, which they used to tie the... absolutely massive hammer, Harry realised, to the back of the pick-up.

Rather than moving the hammer, the back of the pick-up was pulled off.

Harry smiled to himself and decided that he really did need – not just want, but need – to have a go at this bit of fun.

“You gotta be kiddin' kid!” one of the big, beefy guys objected with a laugh. “How do you think you're gonna pick it up when we couldn't?”

“Arthur managed to free Excalibur from an anvil when he was just a kid my age,” Harry countered with a grin.

“Aw, let 'im try!” one of the women watching called out.

“It'd be a right laugh for all of us if the kid did it when even a truck couldn't budge the thing!” added one of her friends.

Harry was escorted down to the hammer. He'd just slipped his hand into the leather strap at the end of the handle when a whole flood of people in suits and combat uniforms descended, declaring the site to be radioactive, and that they all needed to leave. Harry sighed, and removed his hand from the leather strap without attempting to lift the hammer.

“Woah, except you,” a voice said as a hand lay on Harry's shoulder before he could take a step.

Harry turned and looked up at the person who'd stopped him. It was the guy from Budapest. Harry smiled. “Hello again,” he greeted.

“Agent Barton, why are you detaining that minor?” another man in a suit demanded.

“Boss, this is Harry Potter,” the man, Agent Barton apparently, presented.

“Mr Potter,” the suit-wearing man greeted with polite surprise. “I'm Agent Coulson of SHIELD.”

“Shield?” Harry repeated.

“Strategic Hazard Intervention and Espionage Logistics Division,” Coulson explained.

Harry pulled a face. “The acronym is definitely less of a mouthful,” he agreed. “Umm... are you guys also going to be looking for the guy who fell from the sky just a bit before the hammer did?” he asked curiously. “Because he's probably still at the local hospital after he got tased by a very pretty brunette.”

“A man fell from the sky?” Barton asked, a little incredulous, even as he couldn't help but chuckle at Harry's hormones rearing up to describe a person of the opposite gender.

“Well, technically he's an Asgardian and he came by the Bifrost, but laymans terms will say man-slash-alien, and fell from the sky works as a pretty good description of what it looked like when it happened last night,” Harry explained with his best, innocent smile.

“An alien?” Barton questioned, now a lot incredulous, rather than just a little.

Harry shrugged. It wasn't magic, so there was no statute of secrecy covering his telling them about this.

“Indeed,” another voice spoke up.

“Professor!” Harry greeted brightly. “Will I get an answer this time if I ask what you're doing here?”

“I am risking my very existence, Mr Potter,” Loki answered seriously. “The name of this particular blonde and violent idiot is Thor. That,” he said, and gestured to the hammer, “is Mjolnir, Thor's hammer. He'll come for it when he knows it is here, so you needn't look for him.”

“May I ask who you are, and how you were able to just walk up to us?” asked the suit-wearing man, a hint of edge in his tone. “I know my men are already setting up a perimeter.”

“Agent Coulson,” Loki greeted, and inclined his head. “Of course you may ask. However, I cannot promise answers to all of your questions. As I have said already, I risk my very existence by presenting myself here.”

The man in the suit frowned. “I don't believe we were introduced,” he said. “So now I'm also curious as to how you know my name, as well as why you mean by 'risking your existence'.”

“A conversation best held between just the two of us,” Loki intimated. “Or three, if you would be so obliging as to contact Director Fury. But there are some things that I either cannot or will not divulge in the presence of one of my students.”

“I'm confused,” Barton admitted. “Professor?” he asked.

“Well, I go to school in Scotland,” Harry started.

“And I teach one of the subjects at that school,” Loki finished with a suave smile. “Agent Coulson, I am unarmed and only wish to share information with you that will be to the benefit of SHIELD. It is simply a case of some of the information I wish to share being very sensitive.”

Coulson frowned, but nodded. “Very well,” he agreed. “Barton, don't let Mr Potter wander off,” he instructed, then gestured for Loki to lead the way to somewhere private.

“How'd you get all the way out here anyway Kid?” Barton asked.

Harry grinned and pointed to where he'd parked his horse.

~oOo~

Coulson indicated for Loki to climb into the passenger seat of his car, while he slipped into the driver seat. Once the doors were shut, Coulson pulled out his phone and called his boss.

“Coulson, is there some reason you're calling me again so soon?” Fury's voice asked, rather than extend any sort of greeting.

“An unknown approached me and knew who I was, and who you were, without being told,” Coulson answered.

“And I have information,” Loki added.

“Who are you?” Fury demanded.

“I am Loki,” he answered. “And it would be wise for you to remember, Director Fury, that doors, even those that reach to the other end of space, open from both sides. The Tesseract was sent to the bottom of the ocean for a reason.”

“How the hell do you know about that?!” Fury demanded.

“Director Fury, are you familiar with the concept of a paradox? A statement that contradicts itself? I know who you are, who Agent Coulson is, and about the Tessaract because I have met you before, and it was because of the Tessaract that our meeting came about,” Loki started to explain. “This won't happen for, I'd guess, another year or two though.”

“You're saying that you have met us... in the future?” Fury clarified.

“That's right,” Loki confirmed. “Though for me, personally, it has been some half-decade since then.”

“Time travel?” Coulson queried.

“That's right,” Loki confirmed. “And now here I am, risking my continued existence in this time-stream, by offering you information that will become very pertinent.”

“Such as?” Fury asked.

“Such as... when we eventually meet for that first time, Director Fury, I will not be in my right mind, and will not be restored to my right senses until and unless the Hulk slams me into a marble floor enough times to leave me lying in a crater barely able to breathe from the pain.”

“That sounds like a rather drastic sort of measure,” Coulson noted.

“A normal human, such as Agent Barton, would be able to be restored from the same state as I was, or will be in, through nothing more than a solid strike to the temple,” Loki offered. “There are certain disadvantages to being... in possession of a more resilient constitution.”

~oOo~

“So that guy is one of your teachers?” Barton asked Harry as Loki and Agent Coulson walked away.

“My favourite teacher, actually,” Harry corrected. “Yeah.”

“You two look a lot alike,” Barton remarked.

Harry nodded. “He helped me with my school shopping when I got my letter saying I had a spot at my school, and one of the shopkeepers mistook him for my father. I kind of like the idea, and he didn't correct her either.”

“Problems at home?” Barton queried gently.

Harry shrugged. “I wouldn't know,” he admitted, then smirked to himself. “I haven't been back to my aunt's house for going on five years.”

“Aunt's house?” Barton repeated, a confused frown on his face. “What about your parents?”

“Dead when I was a baby,” Harry answered dispassionately.

“Sorry Kid,” Barton apologised.

Harry shrugged again. “I don't remember them,” he admitted. “I found out a couple of years ago that I've got a godfather, and he told me some things about them, but he's really only okay in small doses.”

Barton chuckled. “I know a few people like that,” he agreed with an easy grin.

Harry nodded. “So I've been, I suppose, on the lamb for a while, going to school at the right times but otherwise travelling the world on my inheritance and dodging social services at the same time.”

Barton barked out a laugh. As one who had run away to the circus as a kid, he could sympathise with that.

~oOo~

“Mr Potter, you are a P.O.I.”

“As long as I don't become a P.O.W.”

Coulson actually smiled a little at that. “Mr Potter, would you be interested in working for SHIELD?” he asked.

Barton blinked in shock at the question.

Harry smiled in answer to it.

“You wouldn't have to worry about the Statute, all of our agents live by it. They don't know everything it covers, naturally, but a lot of SHIELD's agents don't even exist,” Coulson continued.

Harry's smile became a mad grin. “I've got to get my OWLs before I can leave Hogwarts,” he said frankly. “And I am very interested in pursuing my NEWTs and further study in Runes and Potions.”

Snape being a git didn't preclude the subject being damn useful.

“Owls and newts?” Barton asked, confused. The poor man's question was ignored.

“Of course,” Coulson agreed. “In the mean time, you can sign our confidentiality agreements, and Agent Barton can help you get started towards our minimum fitness requirements.”

“Oh, and Agent Coulson? The trick to dealing with Tony is to give him paradoxes and impossible problems to solve now and then. Genius brains get bored very quickly,” Harry advised with a cheeky grin before he followed a still slightly stupefied Agent Barton away.

Behind them, Coulson chuckled softly.

~oOo~

After leaving New Mexico, Harry went to New York to visit with Tony. He was building a tower there, and it already had his name on the outside of it. The Research and Development labs were also the first to be developed and heavily reinforced.

Harry was introduced to Pepper, who thanked him profusely for saving Tony's life in Afghanistan, and then promptly dragged down to R&D so that Harry could have a look at the things Tony had been coming up with thanks to the things Harry had written to him about. Some of those things had originally been from Dr Banner's letters to Harry, and some of them had occurred to Harry while he was in class at Hogwarts.

Like the question of 'how does a bit of rock turn lead into gold and make people immortal?'. That was something that had been bugging Harry since he'd heard about the Philosopher's Stone. Tony was _still_ working on that one. After all, how does a person get an Elixir of Life from a stone?

It didn't consume all of the man's time though. He was an engineer, not a chemist. Well, he could be a chemist, he certainly knew how to make explosives, but engineering was his main shtick.

Then it was back to the UK and Hogwarts, where things were getting weird.

Apparently, while Harry had been away having a grand old time in America, learning from Agent Barton how to be a SHIELD agent in New Mexico and then hanging out with Tony and Pepper in New York, the Ministry had decided that they needed to declare Albus Dumbledore a liar, and protest vehemently that Voldemort was not, in fact, back.

“So, they're burying their heads in the sand,” Harry declared when Hermione showed him the newspaper, “and the Dark Tosser is an issue again.”

“How d'you figure Harry?” Dean asked curiously.

“They wouldn't be making such a massive fuss about the whole thing if there was really no threat,” Harry explained with a shrug. “They're running around like headless chickens, hoping that if they deny loudly enough then their wishes will come true.”

“Besides, our magical neighbours on the continent are taking the threat seriously,” Fred stated plainly.

“We got word from Charlie in Romania,” George added, explaining how they knew.

“A celebrity was killed,” Lee pointed out. “And our ministry is pretty much the only one that pretends the best rather than preparing for the worst.”

Neville nodded in agreement. “They've been cutting the Auror budget a little more every year since the war ended.”

“Right. In that case, I'm going to apply to take my OWLs over the Christmas hols and get the heck out of the country before New Year,” Harry decided.

“What?!” yelped the Twins together.

Harry shrugged. “I actually got offered a job over the summer, and I only came back because I need my OWLs. If it's only _our_ ministry that's being this stupid, then we'll all be safer in another country,” he explained.

“Right,” Dean agreed. “Don't think I'll be ready for my OWLs before the end of the year though,” he admitted.

“Neither,” Neville agreed.

Hermione's face contorted in thought. “I'd feel better about passing if I had the full year under my belt too,” she finally said.

“Well, we've got ours,” Lee said with a gesture between himself and the Twins. “But I'll stay to the end of the year at least, keep an eye on you three.”

~oOo~

“What do you think of our new Defence Professor, Mr Potter?” Professor Loki asked lightly when it was just the two of them in his classroom.

For Harry, Runes was the last class of his first day back in the castle, and he'd stayed back to talk to his favourite professor about his intent to get his OWLs before the calendar year was out – which meant he'd need to work faster on his project for Runes, which would necessitate spending more time in Professor Loki's classroom. The man was still quite strict that they only work on their projects under his supervision.

“I'd say she puts me in mind of a toad, but that would be insulting to toads, Sir,” Harry answered honestly.

Professor Loki smiled, and chuckled softly in answer. “Yes,” he agreed fondly. “Madame Umbridge is rather horrific. Now, what did you wish to talk about?”

“Well Sir...” Harry began his explanation.

Loki sat back in his chair when Harry was finished. “Ah,” he said, and considered the teenager before him thoughtfully. “I am impressed by your ambition,” he allowed, “and your reasoning,” he added. “Very well. I only really leave my office for meals and staff meetings during the term anyway.”

“Thank you Professor.”

~oOo~

Despite the best efforts of Madame Umbridge and Headmaster Dumbledore, Harry was out of Hogwarts with all of his OWLs by New Year. Professor Snape had been almost as helpful as Professor Loki in getting Harry ready to take his tests. Professor Snape's justification was that, with those tests passed, he would never have to teach Mr Potter again, which suited him just fine. Even if it did see his employer rather put out with him.

“Mr Potter,” a voice called.

Harry stopped in the Entrance Hall. He'd been on his way out, ready to start his life under his own power completely, free of any obligations that he hadn't specifically chosen himself. He turned to see his favourite professor walking up to him.

“Professor Loki,” Harry answered with a smile.

“Mr Potter, you're leaving Hogwarts now, I think we can dispense with the title. My name is simply Loki.”

Harry frowned slightly. “Sir?” he asked, confused.

Loki chuckled. “Truly, Mr Potter, I have no other name but that one,” he confirmed. “If I may treat you to a meal at The Three Broomsticks?” he requested, a discomforted expression flitting across his features. “There are some things that I believe I _must_ tell you, if you are intent on joining that organisation.”

Harry blinked. “Alright,” he agreed, and the two walked together through the snow down to the village of Hogsmeade.

“A private room, Rosmerta, if you please,” Loki requested when they entered the popular tavern. “And a hearty meal for both Mr Potter and myself.”

“Up the stairs, first on the left,” the woman answered obligingly. “Food'll be up in five.”

“Mr Potter,” Loki started when the food had been delivered and their privacy was made certain, then he hesitated. “Harry,” he tried again. “Do you remember, by any chance, your initial reaction to the revelation of your magical heritage?”

“Hagrid told me,” Harry recalled. “It was all pretty shocking. Went against everything I'd been told up 'til then.”

Loki nodded. “Well, what I am about to tell you is likely to be just as shocking, if not more so,” he advised. “You are familiar, from my classes at least, with the concept of an anomaly.”

Harry nodded in confirmation.

“I am a temporal anomaly, Harry,” Loki explained. “More than that, I am also not _human_.”

Harry blinked at that as he assimilated that piece of information, then scrunched his face up slightly in thought as he attempted to process it. “Not human how, Sir?” he asked.

“I am under the impression that you had a brief encounter with Thor?” Loki countered, letting that be his answer.

“You're an Asgadian?”

Loki shook his head. “Unfortunately, though I was raised under that belief, I am not. The revelation of my heritage, and a number of key events that immediately preceded and followed that revelation, caused me to... go off the deep end, I believe is the most apt description for what happened,” Loki explained, and huffed silently to himself at the irony of that particular description of his mental state at the time.

“What does that have to do with you being a temporal anomaly Sir?” Harry queried.

Loki sighed. “I did something very, very wrong, Harry,” Loki admitted with quiet solemnity and clearly in utter confidence. Harry was not to share this. “Back on Asgard. After that, I spent a few months as a captive to both my insanity and an ancient titan. Not one of the Greek or Roman inventions, Mr Potter,” he added with a smile. “A far more real, and far more terrible creature. Following my release from the company of this titan, my attentions were turned to Midgard, Earth. My insanity continued to rain destruction down on the world I found myself in, but I was defeated. Insane villains always are, it seems,” he added with a sardonic, but grateful, smile.

He shook the sentimentality off in short order.

“Harry, while a team of other people may be the ones who shall be instrumental in my defeat, it will be you who is instrumental in making sure that the paradox of my existence is fulfilled safely,” Loki explained quickly. “I may be subdued and freed from a terribly potent version of the Imperious by a great green beast of a man, but you are the one who must send me back through time. I will take responsibility for my crimes, but the past decade I have had, time which allowed me to seek _therapy_ for my insanity, Mr Potter, as well as make your excellent acquaintance, is very necessary. When the time comes, I will take the place of my past self after you have sent him, me, back in time.”

“How will I do that, Professor?” Harry asked, willing to not ask about the fact that he was essentially going to be helping the man escape punishment for apparently ten years. It was a time paradox. It had to happen in a certain way.

Loki pulled a thick, heavily bound book out of thin air with a gesture. “The spell you will need is on the first page. You must complete it over me while I am still unable to move, it will make everything easier. When that is done, I shall present myself to whatever mercy may await me,” he answered solemnly.

Harry accepted the tome with equal solemnity.

“Mr Potter,” Loki said, not releasing his hold on the text. “You must also send this book back with me. It has an account in my own handwriting. If I do not have this when I am sent back, then the results could be as catastrophic as if I am not sent back at all.”

Harry nodded. “I understand, Professor Loki,” he agreed.

Loki sighed. “Thank you, Mr Potter. I apologise for laying such a burden on your shoulders, but I cannot be in the presence of my past self. To do so would risk my continued existence in both time-streams. It could well risk the time-stream itself.”

~oOo~

Dodging the aliens and the shrapnel was difficult, but not impossible, and he had his apparition licence, so once he knew where he was going and could visualise it, Harry was able to disappear off the streets of New York, reappearing on the balcony of Stark Tower. Stark Tower, where he had seen Loki be knocked out of the sky into the top floor. Stark Tower, where a great green man Harry knew as both Dr Bruce Banner and The Hulk had gone in, and come out again not long after, a satisfied air about him.

Stark Tower, where Harry found the man who would some day become his favourite teacher lying in a crater in the marble floor, wheezing in pain.

Harry opened the book that Loki had given him, and looked over the spell one last time before he closed it up and set it on his mentor's chest, pulling Loki's hands over the book, to make sure that the man would have it with him still when the spell was complete. Then he withdrew both of his foci.

Loki disappeared without a sound.

He reappeared without a sound too, mere seconds later.

“It's done,” Loki said.

“It's done,” Harry agreed, and hesitated.

“Yes, Mr Potter?” Loki asked. “I can see that you have a question. Best ask it before you burst.”

“Will I ever see you again?” Harry blurted out.

Loki's eyes, as green as Harry's, softened. “I hope so, Harry,” he answered. “I hope so.”

Harry nodded, hesitated another moment, then dashed forward to embrace the man who, despite everything that anybody else might have said or thought, had been the most important male role-model in his life, even if he'd only had the man in his life – and that quite tenuously at times – for five years.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “For everything.”

Loki lay one hand on Harry's head, while the other arm wrapped around the teenager in a tight, protective, affectionate hold. “It was my genuine pleasure,” he answered softly. “Now, I'd best make myself ready to be apprehended, I think, and make-believe that I haven't had ten years to anticipate the moment where I shall be held accountable for my crimes. Harry?” he called gently, looking down at the teen in his arms – Harry wasn't standing at his full height as he held tightly to his mentor, allowing for this. They were quite the same height now.

Harry looked up.

“Don't look,” Loki begged.

Harry nodded, and released his hold on his father figure.

~The End~

Incidentally, Voldemort was killed by Draco Malfoy shortly after the blonde graduated from Hogwarts. The young man rather took exception to having his mother threatened by a man with a muggle father (he'd researched the ritual that brought Voldemort back to life, as well as checked out the graveyard where said ritual had been conducted, and found out the truth for himself) and no nose to boot.

And, yes, Harry _was_ reunited with Loki, eventually. There were a few tears, especially when Harry asked Loki if he could call him 'Dad'. Loki had managed to choke out a 'yes', before the (by then) grown man wrapped him up in a tight hug.


End file.
